Where We Once Belonged
by tahwekilelohcin
Summary: WIP. ridiculously AU. Pansy's in danger and hero!Harry comes to her rescue. You know, maybe. Rated for swearing.
1. Today Is The First Day

**Disclaimer**: JKR owns 'em, and would never make her characters be as weird as they are in this fic.

**A/N**: I've just been in a writing mood lately, and somehow that doesn't include "Hogwarts: A History" ...like, it will soon, but it didn't the past week. -- Annnd I got my idea of a Harry/Pansy interaction from a few of bk's fics. -- So, here it is, slightly different than anything else I've really posted, I think. I'm semi-dedicating this chapter to my friend Nick, 'cause he, like, totally inspired me for the Pansy rant. :)

**Chapter One**: Today Is The First Day Of The Rest Of Your Life

* * *

It starts something like this.

I'm standing in the middle of this overly elaborate room, fists clenched at my sides, screaming my lungs out. At a guy, no less.

It's practically your cliché girly hey-I'm-having-a-fit-and-dammit-you're-gonna-be-sorry-soon moment. I'm really not proud of it, but, hey, there it is. Fuck.

"And who the hell do you think you are anyway?"

I don't pause long enough to give him a chance to respond. I don't want a response. I need to get this _out there_ into the ether or whatever the hell. Because then we can move on and be better people . . . and shit like that. You know, maybe. I probably wouldn't count on it, though.

"You can't just go around blaming me for the things you do! It doesn't _work _that way. There's this little thing called free fucking will. And you know what? You have it. Right along with the millions of sickles I just know you've got stashed somewhere in this crypt you call home. So don't you ever dare try to convince me I'm somehow responsible for the stupid things you do. _Ever_."

And, oh god, I'm a bitch.

But the thing is, once you've gone so far into bitch-dom, you start not caring what other people think of you. My mom used to tell me it was called becoming empowered.

And men don't like empowered women, I guess. Those kinds of women are harder to cut down and reshape into some preconceived notion of what a girl should be. Cookie cutter, baby. And me? I'm one of those 'drop cookies' that you never know exactly what sort of shape they're gonna turn out to be after they're all baked. They're all individual, like snowflakes or something. Special!

Anyway, my eyes haven't left his gray ones throughout my entire spiel and his haven't changed their hardness for even one second. No remorse, no understanding. And I know then -- really _know _-- that it's over between us. It's probably been over for ages. Or maybe even over before it began, if I wanted to be all dramatic about it.

He blinks a few times and I expect his next move to be for the door. I mean, he has to have realized that he doesn't want to put up with my shit, right? He's gotta know I'm not worth it at the end of the day.

When he moves, he starts towards me. I summon up all my courage and try not to back away. He wouldn't hit a girl, would he? Fuck, he totally would.

He gets within arms reach of me and I still can't really figure out why he's still in the room. His eyes still haven't left mine for a second, and for some reason it's really starting to unnerve me.

Then he suddenly drops to his knees, and I swear to god I almost faint. And I am not the girly type who faints, like ever.

For a half of a second I think he's planning on making a move for the hem of my skirt, but I notice him digging around in his coat pocket for something. A small wave of relief washes over me, but it's gone sooner than it comes when I finally realize what he's truly _truly _doing.

He pulls out this light teal box, and holy shit, no. No. Seriously, _no_.

"Pansy Parkinson, will you marry me?"

Inside the box is one of the most gaudy rings I have ever seen.

My heart is yelling 'No!"

My head is screaming 'No fucking way, you asshole!'

And I just can't understand how we got to this point. Especially when I was so sure we were breaking up. Again. For the second time this month. And it's February, too. That's like once every two weeks. Don't say we don't thrive on drama.

I want to verbalize the things I'm feeling inside, but something gets lost in translation because I hear myself whispering, "Yes."

I'm crying and Draco's has gotten up from the floor and is kissing me. And it's sort of like the last half-hour leading up to this point didn't ever really happen.

So I let myself forget. And it works for a few hours.

But it all comes rushing back when I find myself sitting in my cubicle behind my desk at work.

The only way to describe the way I feel at that moment in time is ashamed. And I never, ever feel ashamed.

I sit there, staring at absolutely nothing, ignoring the ringing phone on my desk.

It isn't until Jake from Accounting enters my cubicle that I come out of my trance.

"Pans, what the hell have you been doing for the last half hour? I've been trying to get a hold of you."

I blink up at him, not really comprehending whatever the hell it is that he's saying.

He hits me lightly on my shoulder and continues, "Snap out of it, kid. The big, bad boss man wants to talk to you."

The only thing I wonder at is why the hell he sent someone from Accounting to get me. I mean, come on, don't they have better things to do, like crunching numbers, than running around stupid messages for the boss?

So I get a little indignant on Jake's behalf and tell him to tell 'the boss' that if he wants me he can take a whole two seconds to call me, or better yet, come and get me himself.

It isn't until Jake leaves that I realize I've done the same thing to him that our boss had done. And I feel a little bad, but then I remember about the ring adorning my left hand and start my self-pitying party again.

That is, until a very stern man shows up inside my cubicle. And let me tell you right now it isn't Jake from Accounting. Or anyone from accounting, for that matter.

Ah, my boss. With his stupid black messy hair and those hideous glasses. And you can't forget that scar on his head. Mr. Harry James Potter himself. In the flesh.

Aw, shouldn't I feel honored.

But I can't be bothered. Instead I groan and let my head hit the back of my shiny leather swivel chair, my eyes rolling into the back of my head.

I hear him sigh and I make an effort to focus on his face. Yep. Still there. God, I wonder what he wants.

He's standing with pretty-near perfect posture, waiting for me to acknowledge his presence. I hate it when he does shit like this. I mean, just because he saved the world, the guy thinks he's owed loads of respect or something.

Usually I'd be more than content to let this little scene play out for another good ten minutes. But I figure the sooner I can get rid of him, the sooner I can go back into self-pity mode. And the sooner I go back to self-pity mode, the sooner I can get out of it and figure out what the hell to do about Draco.

I clear my throat and begin, "So, Potter, fancy meeting you here."

He crosses his arms. Not a good enough greeting, I guess.

I decide to continue on with my repertoire anyway, "I mean, honestly, what's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?"

He finally realizes I could probably go on for hours, maybe even take my show on the road if I was inclined to (which I'm not, but that's beside the point), and states plainly, "I need to talk to you in my office, Parkinson."

Then he notices my ring. And I swear to god it's probably the first thing he's ever noticed about me ever. Like, he probably wouldn't be able to tell you what color my hair was if you asked him and I wasn't in the room.

A small frown graces his features and he knows he's found something juicy to bother me about, "Orrrr, maybe not 'Parkinson', eh? Wow. Who's the lucky guy?"

I slouch down in my chair and glare up at him, feeling like I'm twelve years old again or something. And I don't like it. Or him.

I'd really like to say "Fuck you, Potter." But I sort of can't, what with him being my boss and all. And the thing is, I really kind of need this job. 'Sort of' meaning, really _really _need this job.

So I suck it up and not-so-gracefully rise from my chair, saying, "Alright, boss-o, let's go to your office."

I reach his office before he does and briefly consider taking his chair and propping my feet up on his maplewood desk. But he shows up before I have time to execute the plan. Maybe next time.

I don't wait for him to sit before I pick the chair closest to his desk and take a seat. When he reaches his own chair, he looks to me and seems a bit surprised to find me already sitting. Which is kinda funny because the guy really should be used to me by now. After all, we've worked together for almost seven months now.

He glances out one of his windows facing the western parking lot before he sits, looking as if he'd rather be somewhere else.

What the hell is this? Let's get on with the show! I've got things to sort out in my life, and I can't do that while I'm at work if I'm in the boss' office.

I'm pulled from my thoughts when I realize I'm toying with the rock on my finger. It feels weird to have a ring there. That alone has to be a sign, right? I hold my hand out a bit, tilt my head to the side and give it a scrutinizing look. It honestly looks pretty enough. Not that I know much about diamonds, though. Only that this one's bigger than most I've seen and really sparkly. Oddly enough it's not super heavy though. And I think, "So, this sparkly, relatively lightweight thing represents the promise of marriage." I kind of think I would've preferred a car more. But that's not Draco's style; he's all about the pure-blooded tradition... and that really doesn't include muggle artifacts that move around on four wheels. But still, a shiny new sports car would've been nice. And useful.

"Are you quite done staring at your hand yet?"

I jump, and for a moment I forget why the hell I'm in Potter's office. And then I remember I don't really know.

I purse my lips, ignoring his question and ask, "Are you going to tell me why I'm here or not?"

He looks as if he's wondering the same thing, and when he finally begins to talk, he does it all in a rush, "Look, when I hired you here I didn't have any ulterior motives. It was just this simple business relationship, but things have gotten a bit more complicated, and now I need to ask something of you."

Huh. Weird. "Oookay...?"

"Listen, Parkinson, this is serious. I don't think you realize the gravity this situation holds--"

I cut him off, "Of course I don't. Do you know why? 'Cause you're too busy spouting off vague things to get to the facts. C'mon, Potter, it can't be that bad."

And I swear the next thing he says was, "Bottom line: you're in danger."

I shoot him a disbelieving look before completely roaring with laughter. Oh, this guy, who knew he had a sense of humor? Wow, I have sooo underestimated him.

I finally get my laughter under a bit of control and manage to inform him, "You're about a month too early, man. April Fools day is in _April_."

And seriously? The look I get from him tells me he is so far from kidding that it's crazy I didn't know it from the beginning.

So I try to backtrack, "Nah, no way, Potter. Me? I'm entirely insignificant. I mean, I'd have to be to have a job like this. Ha ha, right?"

He's still got this grave expression on his face when he asks me, "How much do you really know about what's going on with the war?"

I frown because I know the war officially ended almost a year ago. I say, "Potter, you really need to stay on those meds, you know? The war is over."

An entirely surprised look splays across his features.

Oh shit. "Tell me the war is over."

His eyes focus seemingly on the stapler on his desk and he mumbles as if talking to himself, "Can't believe she doesn't know. Malfoy didn't say..."

He stops, as if remembering I'm in the room. He swallows hard as his eyes meet mine.

A small amount of panic is rising inside of me, "What does Draco have to do with any of this?"

He lets out a small half-laugh devoid of any humor as he replies, "Everything."

I'm getting angry, "Look, cut the shit and tell me what the fuck is going on."

He apparently decides thinking out loud will make the situation better, "This would've been so much easier if you would've at least had some clue of what's going on."

Oh, super.

"Okay, so you see, Draco was pulling this double agent stunt with the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix. And just this morning we, the Order, got some information that points to the suggestion he's playing for the Death Eater's team and feeding them highly sensitive information. And we've got to wring a confession out of him. While brainstorming over how to do this someone suggested we get a hold of his significant other and use her as collateral or some shit like that."

"Oh my god," is all I can say. After all, there really isn't much to say other than that.

He clears his throat and continues, "Which, of course is where you come in. The Order knows you work for me; they're planning on coming in sometime this afternoon..."

This was all leaning dangerously close to the cliché side of the spectrum, "I'm _collateral_? What the fuck is up with that? Did time slip back a millennia or something and I missed it?" And then the weight of what is really going on here strikes me, "Wait, Potter. Why did you tell me they're coming for me?"

He adjusts his glasses as he quietly explains, "Things aren't how they should be right now. We're all desperate for any information; some more than others. And I am not sure to what lengths the Order will be willing to go to in trying to get information out of you. I mean, think about it. You're his fiancée. Normally you'd know at least some of what's going on."

This is all more than just a little too much to take in at once. Not only is the war still going on, but Draco's double-agenting his way through it and is stupid enough to get caught.

And I swear I'm normally a fairly strong person, so there's really no reason for what I do next. Which is start crying like a pathetic girl.

Welcome to your new life, Pansy Parkinson, you're now officially a pathetic girl who's at the mercy of one dark haired guy you don't even know all that well.

Potter's reaction to my waterworks isn't one most men would take. I'm more than surprised to find him crouched in front of my chair, holding out a box of tissues toward me.

I begrudgingly take one and first dab underneath my eyes. A load of black comes off onto the white tissue. Great, so not only am I a simpering fool, I probably also look like a raccoon.

I swallow, try to clear my head and manage to ask, "So, what now?"

He just looks at me and I know he doesn't have an answer. He expected me to have the answer for myself, expected me to know more about my boyfriend than I do, expected me to have somewhere to go.

But that's the thing. There isn't a single place I can go. Draco's flat isn't safe, and that's where I am currently living. Anyone would think to look for me there. I can't go home, my parents don't deserve to get caught in the middle of this, especially since they've managed to keep out of the entire good wizard/bad wizard game that's been going on for ages thus far.

I feel a new rise of emotions coming up, wanting to find an outlet, I swallow them down the best I can again, yet I'm not able to keep my voice from cracking when I confess, "I don't have anywhere to go."

And somehow saying those words makes everything three times worse. This time I don't care as much when I break down crying.

Before I know it, I feel a pair of slender arms around me. I know it's Potter, but, honestly, I can't be bothered to care. I bury my head in his shoulder, undoubtedly getting eye makeup all over his clean pinstriped suit.

And I promise myself once I'm able to pull myself together, I'll explain to him that I'm not this sort of girl at all. I'm empowered, remember? This whole situation just caught me a bit off guard, is all.

It slowly registers that not only am I in Potter's office, but he's got his arms around me, consoling me. And for some reason that's harder to wrap my head around than anything else.

He said they were coming this afternoon, right? Fuck. I have stuff I need to do.

I quickly push him away from me and I find I can't look him in the eye. He's still hovering within inches of my body, and all I really want is some space. You'd think the Wonder Boy would understand that. I mean, it had to have been in his training, right?

Through my peripheral vision, I see his hand slowly reaching out toward my hand. I quickly move it to itch my nose. I close my eyes and wish I had a different life. But, shit, that's exactly what's gonna happen, isn't it? I'm going to get a "new life." Ugh.

Apparently Potter became the touchy-feely type somewhere along the lines because his hand is under my chin, gently turning my head to face him.

And he picks up where we left our conversation off over five minutes ago, simply stating, "You can stay at my flat."

Even though I don't admit it, I'm incredibly grateful.

o o o

I hate being that guy. You know what I mean, the guy who always finds himself in the position where he knows something that someone else needs to know for their own well-being and survival. I am always _that _guy. I guess it comes along with being (I really hate to use this word, but) important like I am.

Not that _I _think I'm important. But other people do, and for some reason that means they're forever telling me about things. Whether it's about the broom shop that's planning on opening on Broadway sometime within the next year or it's about some branch of the Order's business I have nothing to do with. Like this morning, for example.

I was sitting at the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place (even though I simply detest being inside that house for any given amount of time), going over some paperwork. Who knew _war _had paperwork? It's ridiculous, really. Anyway, I was doing paperwork when Dean pops his head into the kitchen.

Dean's in charge of making sure all Order members stay on the straight-and-narrow, and he was having one hell of a week trailing after Malfoy, who wouldn't stop randomly disappearing from where he was scheduled to be.

And, honestly, I know it's important for me to be aware of those who are going astray, but I don't need every little detail about the proceedings behind it.

So, there's Dean, standing in the doorway, with that look on his face. The look that says, oh-shit-we're-in-trouble. I get that look from people a lot. Apparently I'm their go-to man when they're feeling that way. I'm a pretty lucky guy. He says, "Look, Harry, we were right about Malfoy."

And even though I'd much rather not know, I find myself asking, "You have evidence? Good, solid evidence?"

Dean nods, "Almost, we've just got to catch him at it one more time."

I sigh inwardly, "Do you think he knows you're on to him?"

His face contorts slightly, I know I've hit on something significant, and I'm pissed, "Fuck, Dean. How long have you had this job? You have to be stealth!"

He looks as if he wants to roll his eyes, but is holding himself back on my account. Maybe I was inadvertently a bit too harsh.

He crosses his arms as he says, "We'll just have to get a confession out of him some other way."

And this is the sort of thing I really don't like hearing about, he _knows _I don't want to hear it. But he continues anyway, "He's screwing Parkinson, right? So, we'll just get a hold of her and use her as bait. Easy as that, Harry. We'll have this straightened out by the end of the week."

I genuinely want to find a nice sturdy wall and bash my head in against it. What's it going to take for people to realize that you can't just go around and mess with other people?

I scratch the back of my neck as I ask, "Do you have more of a plan than that?"

He smiles a bit and says, "Well, she works with you, right? So, we know where she'll be tomorrow eight to five. We're gonna swing by sometime after lunch. And, hey, maybe she'll know what Malfoy's up to. I mean, she's gotta know something, right? She always was a nosy little bitch."

At that point, I'm too stunned to say much of anything, "Yeah, okay, Dean."

"All right. I swear we'll clean this up."

Funny how he thinks cleaning up somehow involves messing other things up.

And the thing is, I don't even like Pansy all that much. Dean was pretty much accurate in his assessment of her being a nosy bitch, well, at least when she's not busy being an entirely self-involved bitch.

But that's not really the point at the end of the day. The point is, as much as we need a confession out of Malfoy, it's not right to use her to get to him. I'm not even sure that it'd work. He's pretty self-involved, too. It's actually a wonder he can focus his attention long enough on someone else to even be in a relationship.

But I digress. If the Order had wanted to talk to Pansy, maybe work _with _her in trying to get Draco to talk, then that would've been another story. But war changes things, and people start to think the only way they'll get what they want is by simply taking it. And that's just not something I can abide by, no matter what the circumstance.

And somehow all of that ends me up with Pansy living in my flat. It's crazy how shit like that just happens.

**

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**Review?**


	2. As If We Could Progress

**Disclaimer**: I totally own the special edition Goblet of Fire DVD and teaser poster. However, I don't own the characters. Surprise!

**Chapter 2**: As If We Could Progress

* * *

We leave work early that day. Actually, about five minutes after I'm able to pull myself together enough to report to my department supervisor that I don't feel well and that I'm going home. 

It's sort of surreal leaving someplace and knowing you'll never return.

Okay, so that's overly dramatic. I mean, I'll probably be back here someday. It's just going to be awhile.

I tell myself it's just because the idea is new; I haven't had time to wrap my head around it.

And that's what I continue to tell myself as we zip down the freeway in Potter's banged up, rusted out Nissan. Seriously, you'd think the guy could afford better. Scratch that. I _know _he can afford better.

I make the mistake of pointing this out to him about seven minutes into the drive.

"So, Pot-Pot, what's up with the ride? Does rust ward off evil forces or something?"

He doesn't bother turning his head in my direction, instead opting to turn up his classic rock radio station.

And I think, "So, he's got an affinity for old shit. Huh." And I secretly hope his flat isn't full of "antiques," because old furniture freaks me out. For real. I mean, there isn't any reason that I can think of for my phobia, it's just always been there. Thus, life at Hogwarts wasn't really a picnic.

So, I'm sort of holding my breath for the rest of the ride, praying to whatever higher force that will take the time to listen, to keep me safe from the antiques of the world that could potentially inhabit my new living space.

And, luckily enough, someone must've heard me, because I enter his flat and there doesn't seem to be any old shit sitting around. In fact, there isn't much for furniture in Casa de Harry at all.

Who knew he was a minimalist? But since I'm a smart girl who learns from her past mistakes (ha!), I keep my mouth shut about the lack of home-furnishings.

After a few minutes, I get bored of simply staring at the same four walls and I realize he hasn't moved an inch since he closed the door.

Wow, hello, awkward! Are we just going to stand in the entryway all day? This'll be fun!

He finally clears his throat and says, "So, er, this is it."

I raise my eyebrows amusedly and reply, "So it is."

I peer at him out of the corner of my eye. He seems to be a little socially retarded today. I mean, more than usual.

So, I try to help him out, "Any particular place where I'll be sleeping or whatever?"

His face brightens up significantly, "Oh, yeah! Right. Okay. Follow me."

I 'follow' him the whole twenty feet to the third (and last) door in the hallway off the kitchen.

The first thing I see when he opens the door, is the closet. And at that moment I realize I don't have any of my stuff with me. Like, any of it. No clothes, none of my extensive shoe collection, not even my cell phone charger. And, damnit, I miss my stuff.

I guess my face drops a bit or something, because the next thing out of his mouth is, "Look, I know it's not much. But this was all pretty short notice."

I can't help but smile at him, because, honestly, the room is fine. And as if my opinion should matter to the Great Harry Potter anyway, but for some reason it does. Even though he's the one doing me a favor.

"No, it's not the room," I say as I prop myself up against the doorjamb, "The room's great, really. I just... I don't' have any of my stuff. And, like, I need it."

And I don't really expect him to understand, because, of course he'd be one of those non-materialistic people. Part of that comes from simply being of the male persuasion and part of it comes from ...well, just being him.

So I try to come up with some sort of explanation that he'll understand while I wait for his inevitable question:

"What sort of stuff?"

Ding! Ding! Ding!

And I try my very hardest not to sound whiny, or like I have all the things I consider necessary for survival memorized.

"My hairdryer, my eyeliner, all 16 pairs of winter shoes, my Kate Spade clutch, my complete collection of Garbage albums, my brand new black pea coat that I got half off at the sweetest little store uptown, my electric blanket, my--"

He cuts me off, which isn't something I expected him to do. And instead of being pissed at him over it, I actually give the guy some credit.

He very slowly brings his hands up, palms facing me as he says, "Wow, stop. Stop right now."

He looks like he's trying to come up with a game plan. Hopefully it involves some elaborate scheme to get me my stuff out of Draco's house. Preferably before nightfall.

So I wait for him to voice his surely brilliant plan.

And then I wait some more.

Finally he takes a breath and asks, "How about if we just go out and buy you the necessities or something?"

I am absolutely crestfallen by this. No Kate Spade clutch? And my pea coat! Oh, my god. I _need _my pea coat.

I tell him just as much too, thinking somehow it'll make him understand.

But it doesn't.

Instead, he gets all practical on me, "We can't show up at Malfoy's. Dean will have swung by the office by now, and he'll know you're missing. His next stop will be Malfoy's. Now tell me, would you rather have your Cape Spay clutch or your freedom?"

I roll my eyes, but don't even bother pointing out his misnomer of my beloved bag. It is painfully obvious he doesn't understand. Never mind, I guess, the fact he's totally right.

BUT, I also realize he's overlooked something with his master plan. "You know what? I technically can't even go out to buy my necessities, 'cause your freaky Order will be on the lookout for me."

Then it hits me: oh my god, I am a prisoner in Potter's flat!

...I hope he's at least got cable. With movie channels.

I'm still lost in thought, wondering about the TV situation when he suddenly turns away from "my" new room and starts walking down the hall.

Okay. It's gonna take awhile to get used to him, for sure.

So I wander into the room, taking care not to look directly at the closet, 'cause, like, its emptiness will probably burn my retinas out (like the sun would to normal people).

There's a double bed on the east facing wall, and let me tell you something, the comforter on it is appallingly ugly: it's all hibiscus flowers and fish. Downright tropical. I wonder if it has a reverse side that's a simple solid color that could potentially save it, but my thoughts are interrupted as I hear Potter talking.

At first I think he's talking to himself and that I should probably be very worried about his sanity ...and my own personal safety, but after a moment or so I can hear the person on the other side _of the phone_ responding in that metallic-y far-off way people's voices always sound to anyone that doesn't have their ear up to the receiver.

A question is poised, "Hey, can you pick up a few things for me?"

There is an almost silence, where I don't hear anything, really.

An explanation from Potter, "No, I can't. I have to get back to work."

Silence.

"Ugh! Will you just do it? C'mon, I wouldn't ask you if it weren't important."

More silence.

"No, I know what you do is important too..."

Merlin! Potter's talking to a girl! There's no way this sort of conversation would ever take place between two men. Unless...

No, no way. Potter's straight, right? Oh, hell, is it ever gonna be interesting staying here!

Oh, damn. I got so caught up wondering about his sexuality, I missed the rest of the conversation. Now the person on the other end of the line will forever be a mystery!

I hear footsteps headed my way and I hastily pick up a book off of the bookshelf in the corner, and begin examining the back cover before he comes back into the room.

"Hey, Parkinson?"

I look up as if I'm surprised to see him back so soon, "Oh, hey. What's up?"

Shit, that was played way too casual.

And now he's looking at me sort of funny. Probably wondering about _my _sanity and _his_ personal safety.

He continues anyway, graciously ignoring my weirdness, "Listen, I have to get back to work, I'm sure Dean will be going out of his mind wondering where I am. But, when I get back tonight, I promise I'll have some of those necessities for you. Don't get too excited though, there's only so much I can do."

And then he winks at me. While grinning. And, hell, Potter is _so _straight.

There really isn't much to say to any of that, so I opt for the standard, "Um, okay."

He nods his head, as if affirming something one of us has said, "Okay. So, you can just hang out here until then. Read a book, watch a movie, surf the net or something--"

I look down at the book in my hands and think, 'God, now he's thinks I'm a _reader_. Oh, laaamme.'

"--I see you've already found a few of the books; the rest are in the living room. The movies I have are in the same bookshelf in the living room as the books. And, uh, the computer is in my room."

I nod, "Okay."

Then he lets out this sort of half laugh and says, "God, you sure are obliging today. Why can't I work with this Pansy on the job? It'd make my life so much easier."

And he's totally right. But it's still sort of unfair of him to bring it up, especially when he knows I've been thrown off my game. I start to get a little annoyed until I realize he's not being cruel, but instead, is teasing me.

I grin and state, "Sod off Potter. Go save the fucking world or something."

He feigns surprise and exclaims, "You sneak! You've been reading my day-planner, haven't you?"

I give an appreciative laugh and sit down on the bed, ignoring it's ghastly pattern. "Yeah, so sue me. But seriously, the world's waiting, kid. Go gittem!"

He looks as if he wants to say something else, but decides not to, instead settles for: "Okay, 'kid,' I'll see you later."

A few minutes after he's left, locking the door behind himself, I discard the book on the bed and venture out into the living room. And then I see it. The most fantastic thing I've had the pleasure of setting my eyes upon all day: a high definition, 60 inch flat screen plasma television.

Fuck. Yes.

I know it's not 'girlie' to be all into electronics and shit, but like I said, I'm not your cookie cutter type of girl. I totally dig electronics, especially brand new TVs. And there is no way that this fine specimen of Japanese ingenuity is anything but brand spankin' new.

I should call Potter right now and tell him I'm never leaving. After all, when a person loves another person, they never want to leave their side, right? And so what if the TV isn't a person? It's not really its fault, is it? I mean, it's probably a very good thing I came along; now it can have all the love and affection it deserves.

And for the next four hours I'm completely absorbed with watching the television. Everything is just so much better watching it on a big screen, especially when I'm sitting on the floor about five feet in front of said TV. Screw radiation and shit, if any of that was ever true; if I get cancer because of this life-altering experience, then so be it. I'll tell them it was worth every fucking second.

When I hear the key in the door a little bit before five o'clock, I think it's Potter. After all, he's the boss, he can leave early if he wants, right? _Right_.

So, I start talking to him, not bothering to turn around, 'cause that would mean I'd miss some of the brilliance taking place on the screen.

"Fuck, Potter, why didn't you say you had a television the gods would be jealous of? I mean, just so you know, I'm never ever leaving the exact place I am in right now. Like, ever. Well, except to put a new DVD in or to make popcorn or something. Ooh, do you _have _popcorn?"

My questions are met with silence and then I hear it. _It_ being shoes click-clacking across linoleum floor. Shoes that _so _aren't Potter's. Shoes that can only belong to another woman. Only that in this situation, it's gonna look like _I'm _the other woman.

Oh, god, why can I never keep my mouth shut?

And then I finally see the face that belongs to the shoes, and _shit_, it's Granger.

The small frown on her face turns to downright outrage, and the shopping bags she's holding in each hand fall to the floor with a thud.

"Pansy!"

I'm honestly too afraid to say anything. You see, even though the two of us never talked much during our days in school together, it was just sort of understood that we didn't like each other. Too much shit was always going down between our boys. And we were (are?) super loyal to those boys.

So I stay silent, waiting for something inevitable to happen.

But nothing does. Instead, she blinks a few times, seems to regain some sort of composure, and simply turns around and leaves, locking the door behind her.

Uh oh.

I quickly get up off the floor and leave my beloved TV to find my cell phone.

I dial work and get the secretary:

"Hello, G. T. U. O. Incorporated, how may I direct your call?"

"Can I talk to Potter?"

A sugary sweet voice responds, "Dear, _Mr_. Potter is a very busy person. And I--"

I don't have time for this shit. Seriously, I don't. "Damnit, Marge, get Potter on the line, it's important."

Apparently using her first name, especially since she hadn't given it to me during the time we just shared together on the phone, must've freaked her out enough to do as I said.

Twenty agonizing seconds later:

"Yeah?"

I sigh in relief, "Potter, Granger was just here and saw me. I mean, and she didn't even say anything. Just stood there for a few seconds and _left_."

"_Fuck_."

And that is so not the response I was hoping for from him. I was hoping he'd be all like, "Oh, Hermione? Nah, she's cool."

But she isn't. Cool, that is, I guess. Shit. I've got to get out of here.

His voice comes across urgently, as if he knows what I'm thinking, "Pansy, stay right where you are. I'm serious--"

I cut him off, "You're insane! Bloody insane! I'm not staying here! You said it yourself, they're gonna do whatever it takes to get what they want!"

Wow, over dramatics are certainly catchy, aren't they?

Now his voice is firm, "No, _stay there_. I'm leaving right now, and I'm gonna go find her."

I fight back the urge to whine _But what about me?_ Instead I say, "So I'm just supposed to stay here?"

But I don't get an answer. He's already hung up.

I go back into the living room and stare at the TV; funny how it's lost the majority of its appeal. I decide to just go sit on the couch while I wait, and on my way toward it, I trip over the bags Granger dropped.

A bottle of shampoo falls out of one of the bags.

Then curiosity gets the better of me and I begin digging through the bags, sitting down on the carpeted floor.

There are about three different changes of clothes, a pair of pajamas, a brand new toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, and loads of other kinds of toiletries.

My first reaction is: Shit, she didn't leave to go tell Dean about my whereabouts. She left 'cause she was pissed I was here -- Potter's screwing the prudish bookworm!

Suddenly I get a visual in my mind that I really would've been totally okay without having there.

And then I think, Jeeze, I wonder how the Weasel took the news.

Because, from what I vaguely remember, he was totally head over heels for her.

Wow, that had to have been a real kick in the teeth. I mean, Boy-Wonder-Potter gets all the attention every effing day of the week from the world, and then he ends up getting the girl too? Way harsh.

And I'm still sitting on the floor when I hear a key in the lock again.

My breath catches in my throat and I wait, a sitting duck, for the person on the other side of the door to come through.

And, thank Merlin! It's Potter. Alone!

He's carrying about four Styrofoam containers and not only am I greeted with his beautiful (wait... beautiful?) face, but also the wonderful smell of takeout. And bless this guy's soul.

He strides to the kitchen table, dumping the containers off before turning to me and saying, "Hey, I brought food. I hope you're hungry."

And oh-my-god, I am sooo famished.

But, wait. Wait! First things first.

I try for the subtle approach, "So, what was the deal with Granger? You screwing her or something?"

The priceless expression on his face tells me that I was wrong about my initial assumption.

But then, where did she run off to this afternoon?

It doesn't really look like I'm going to be getting any answers from him either.

I've never seen him quite so flustered, his mouth is opening and closing, like he wants to say something, but no noise whatsoever is coming out. A fish! He looks like a fish out of water --that's what thinking of Granger in that way does to him. Hilarious!

I stifle a giggle and concede, "Aw, Potter. Come on now. Hey, I'm sorry, okay? Let's eat, yeah?"

o o o

I'm standing in my kitchen, staring down at this seemingly unremarkable girl. But she's not really unremarkable at all. I am constantly surprised by the things that continue to come out of her mouth. And, really, you'd think at some point I'd learn. I mean, I've been working with her for over seven months, and yet every time I run into her I expect... I don't know what I expect, but I don't expect her.

Maybe I expect the short blonde girl who hung around behind Malfoy and his thugs, glaring at me for what I represented and not who I actually was.

But that's probably not how it was back then at all.

If it had been, then I think I'd have some sort of an idea as to who Pansy Parkinson is, instead of constantly being sideswiped by her brash, upfront attitude. Maybe she's changed since then.

That's a novel concept, being able to change from whom you were during school.

But I'm starting to get off point.

_"Aw, Potter. Come on now. Hey, I'm sorry, okay? Let's eat, yeah?"_

And I find myself speaking without even thinking anything through I'm saying, "Hermione was just here to drop off some stuff for you. Only... she didn't know it was for you. And she was supposed to swing by the office and leave it for me there, but she always does whatever she wants. And today that ended her up finding you."

She just blinks at me and questions, "So, what's in the boxes? Is it Italian? 'Cause it smells Italian. And just for your own personal welfare, there had better be some breadsticks."

And that, I think, is exactly how she gets what she wants from people. She has to know that they expect her to demand an explanation, so when she doesn't, she gets one quicker and a whole lot more detailed than what she would've gotten had she asked.

I realize this, yet I fall into the trap anyway.

"Of course the first thing she did was show up at the office, wanting a damn good explanation as to why I was giving shelter to someone the Order is having one hell of a time tracking down. So I explained it to her. ...And I think she understands."

She simply stares at me throughout my little speech, then smiles a bit and asks, "So, I suppose you won't be getting any tonight, hm?"

I simply adopt one of her game plans as I answer, "Yeah, it's Italian. And breadsticks? Oh, sweetheart, your life will never be the same."

She gives me a little smirk and responds, "You know, Potter? I'm gonna hold you to that."

I turn my back on her to go get the boxes and say, "Oh, I hope you do." And then I laugh, just a little though.

And then I think that it could be sort of nice to have someone around to eat dinner with. You know, sort of. In a totally unconventional sort of way.

* * *

**A/N**: Thanks so much to my reviewers _LaBelle Evans_, _harrison potter_, and _sugarbomb53086_! 

Now, I don't really think that I'll be able to keep this sort of update schedule going, but we'll see.

Until next time!

-tahwekilelohcin

(3/13/06)


	3. Something About Company Ink

**Disclaimer**: Hi! You know this story you're reading? Well, I have a confession, I'm not JKR, therefore I don't own the characters or anything else you recognize. Wow, do I ever feel better now. Thanks for listening and understanding! ;)

**Chapter 3**: Something About Company Ink

* * *

We're sitting in the living room, in front of my TV (which Pansy has taken a HUGE and slightly disturbing liking to), eating the takeout I brought back after having a talk with Hermione. Pansy seems so completely involved with her food and the movie, that when she finally speaks, it catches me off guard a bit.

She proclaims, "You were _so _right."

I respond without thinking at first, "Yeah, I know." And then wonder, "Wait. What was I right about?"

She motions toward her Styrofoam entree, "These breadsticks! I mean, what do they put on them? Crack? 'Cause, oh, baby, I'm addicted."

I smile, push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and sweetly ask, "You're really not one of those no-carb girls, now are you?"

She laughs for about a half-second and then gets super serious when she inquires, "What do you mean? Do you think I _should _be one those girls?"

And all I can think is: _Oh. Shit._

But within a matter of moments she bursts out laughing, "Oh, hell, Potter. I'm just messing with you. You are _so _much fun to mess with!"

I roll my eyes and opt for a cliché reply, "I bet you say that to all the boys..."

She shrugs and continues, "So what if I do? I'm a force to be reckoned with!"

I give her a quizzical look and say, "...I'm not sure that has anything to do with anything."

She scrunches her nose up a bit before saying, "Fair point. Let's go back to the breadsticks."

I nod and pick one up, "They're all bread-y and... stick-like."

She practically cuts me off with an outburst, "And fucking fabulous! Where did you get them anyway?"

"Oh, just this little place down the street. I get food from there at least three times a week."

I could be wrong, but she seems genuinely impressed, "Just three? That's some will-power there."

She then continues to stuff another breadstick into her mouth. And I sorta start getting worried that maybe they do lace the dough with crack or something.

"You don't think you should maybe let up on all the bread?"

She looks absolutely appalled as she flips her blonde hair over her shoulder, "Tell me: why you would ask such a heinous question?"

I shrug, backing off right away, because, like she said, she IS a force to be reckoned with, even though I don't know her all that well, I know that. "Well, I dunno. Too much bread can't be good for you."

She casts me a dubious look, "And you don't think I'm responsible enough to know when I've had enough."

It's a statement more than a question. And she's right.

So I make an executive decision and I firmly tell her "Okay, that's it, I'm cutting you off."

Then I take the container holding the breadsticks away and set it on the couch behind me.

What she does next is entirely unexpected and just slightly frightening, screaming, "You can't fucking cut me off!"

Then she lunges toward me and the breadsticks behind my head, "Just one more!"

And I'm soon bodily dragging her away from the couch, all the while taking great care not to spill my container of lasagna on the carpet (for the second time this week alone).

When she's back in her original spot, propped up against the La-Z-Boy, she pouts, "Honest, Potter. One more and then I'll be done."

And there's really nothing to do but laugh. Because she's totally insane. Yet she knows it, so somehow that makes it okay. And I also sort of wonder why Malfoy didn't try to take better care of her.

She notices the change of vibe in the room and knowingly replies, "I don't think I can marry Draco."

I frown slightly, "Nah, don't even worry about it. I mean, yeah, he's in a fair bit of trouble right now. Especially if what Dean expects he's up to turns out to be correct, but if he straightens out, he'll be back in the general wizarding public within six months."

She shakes her head, finally setting what's left of her breadstick down, "No, it's not that. Well, I guess it's partially that, but only because he didn't tell me anything of what was going on. But even before all of this, I don't think we really would've ever worked out."

I don't know how to respond to her, so I offer her another breadstick.

She gives me a small smile and takes it, shoving half of it rather ungracefully into her mouth.

After we're done I pick up the containers and throw them in the garbage in the kitchen. I glance into the living room and see that Pansy's moved back to her spot five feet in front of the television; for some reason she reminds me very much of a small child, at least, I know, until the next time she opens her mouth and a string of vulgarities comes pouring out. Which it does about five seconds later, when she's yelling at the screen:

"Shit, look behind you! You fucking people always turn your back on the foreboding looking doorway! It's foreboding looking for a reason! That crazy fuck is hiding there!"

...Have I mentioned we're watching some lame-o horror movie? Her pick, not mine.

I pop my head back into the living room for a moment, saying, "Hey, I'm gonna head to bed. So if you could keep it down to a low roar?"

She doesn't bother to respond, instead waving me away with the back of her hand.

I can't help but smile, "Goodnight, Parkinson. I'll see you tomorrow."

This time she manages to mumble, "'Night."

"Oh, and hey--"

Annoyed, she responds turning toward me, "What is it Potter!"

"--The virgin doesn't die."

And with that I send her a smirk and exit the room.

When I'm alone in my room I can't help but wonder at how easy it was getting used to having her around and she hasn't even been here twenty four hours. Usually when Hermione or Ginny are in town and stay at my flat, I'm literally pulling at my hair four hours into their stay. But they never notice since my hair's apparently so messy anyway.

And, I mean, it's not like I actually _like _her. But, I guess I don't really mind having her around. You know, much.

o o o

After Potter makes his exit to his room, I lay down in front of the TV, promising myself I'll just watch the movie for twenty more minutes until it's over before I go to bed. ...My bed with the hideous comforter; I hope it doesn't glow in the dark. 'Cause that'd be way weird.

And, wow, he was so right. About the virgin not dying, I mean. She finally looked over her shoulder after having a half-dozen encounters with the crazy man carrying that damn jagged knife. Laaame.

But still, I want to see the end. The end is usually the best part, 'cause they try sooo hard to get you hooked so you come back a year later and pay your five bucks to watch the sequel. As if we don't see through their plan. Stupid Americans and their fucking Hollywood. Well, screw them ...as soon as this movie is over.

o o o

I wake up sometime around four in the morning. And why WHY is the TV still on? I fumble for my glasses on my bedside table and I somehow manage to untangle my limbs from the sheets before I achieve a sitting position. And then get out of bed.

I yawn as I shuffle across the floor to my closed door. I open it and the sound of some random infomercial increases slightly in volume.

Ah, food processors. This infomercial, I know from experience, sucks. But then again, when's the last time anyone's seen a genuinely _good _infomercial?

Highly philosophical thoughts (or something) at four o'clock in the morning, I tell you.

I notice Pansy fast asleep in front of the screen. Her blonde hair is falling across her face, changing colors with the screen.

I crouch down to nudge her arm and whisper, "Hey, Pans? Wake up, kiddo."

And wow, this is really weird because never in my entire life have I ever been sent to wake anyone up. I mean, how am I even supposed to wake a sleeping person?

Oh, screw it.

I _could _just leave her here... but my hero complex tugs at my conscious.

I maneuver my arm underneath her head, catching some of her hair in the process, and then get my other arm underneath her knees. And then I mentally prepare myself for what I'm about to do.

Three. Two. One.

UP!

And not that Pansy's fat or anything, because she's truly not, but she's certainly dead weight. And dead weight is heavy.

Somehow, perhaps by sheer will, I get her to her room, laying her down on top of the bedding. I remove the book she seemingly had left there earlier and put it back on the shelf.

She moves slightly and I wonder if I've woken her, but her eyes stay shut as she turns her head away from the light coming in through the door.

Before I leave I pull up the throw blanket from the bottom of the bed and cover her with it. It isn't until I've turned off the TV and I'm back in bed that I wonder why I thought to do so anyway. It was like it was instinctual or something. Very weird.

I yawn before deciding to forget about it. And soon I'm asleep again.

o o o

I slowly drift into consciousness, and out of sheer habit reach across the bed searching for Draco's sleeping form. When my hand meets only a cotton comforter and eventually the wall, I quickly open my eyes.

Wait. Where the fuck am I? And what happened to the silk sheets?

When I realize I'm still in my (now altogether too restrictive) clothes, I remember everything. And I feel sick. And I'm almost positive it has nothing to do with the amount of bread I consumed last night.

It's funny how most people would binge on alcohol after receiving news like I had yesterday, but instead of doing so, I pigged out on Italian bread. It probably says something about me as a person. And not just that I'm destined to be fat by the time I hit forty.

Maybe it says that I'm pathetic.

Maybe it says that Potter is a good influence on me. Fuck, his moral uprightness is already rubbing off.

God, I hate mornings.

And knowing I have absolutely nowhere to go today, I decide I'm not getting up.

Instead, I pull off my skirt and nylons, throwing them onto the floor; then roll onto my stomach, burying my head into the pillow and fall back asleep.

...Only to be jarred back into a waking state twenty five minutes later.

And oh-my-god Potter's phone has **the** most annoying ring tone I have ever had the misfortune of hearing before noon.

o o o

Ungh, who calls before seven o'clock in the morning? Who!

I finally manage to grab my phone off my bedside table and read the flashing screen: Ron Weasley

Oh, Ron. Well, okay.

I flip open the phone and bring the it up to my ear that's not still smashed into my pillow.

"What."

"Good morning, starshine! The earth says hello!"

I groan, "Ron, you fucker..."

He concedes and says, "Okay, okay. I'll get to the point."

"Please do."

"So, like, what's this I hear about you harboring a felon? Hm? That's not very Boy-Who-Lived-esque of you."

I groan again and begin searching for my glasses with my free hand, "Listen, it's... Ugh, it's complicated, okay?"

I hear him let out a humorless laugh, "It's _complicated_? What do you think I am, ten years old? Shit, Harry, this is serious. What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

I get a little angry, moving myself into a sitting position as I spout, "Oh, hm, I don't know. I'm just this mindless guy who doesn't know what to do if I don't have my two best friends ordering me around."

He sighs, "It's not like that. I mean, I just need to know why. Tell me why and I'll back you up as long as you need me--You're not screwing her, are you?"

Why does everyone think I'm getting some when I'm so plainly not? Honestly. It's getting to be really annoying.

I deadpan, "Yeah and is she ever an animal. I just couldn't let Dean get to her, 'cause you know he'd only keep her for himself."

There's silence on the other end of the line, so I continue, "Damnit, Ron! Of course I'm not screwing her. Let's introduce a little reality into this situation, hm? ...I just couldn't let things go down the way they were originally planned to yesterday. I mean, you know how it is. Some of the Order members will go to who-knows-what lengths to get the information they need. Do you get that? We don't know what they're capable of, and that's as scary as hell."

And I don't know what kind of response I expect to come from my clever friend, but this is the response I get: "Can I talk to her?"

And _wow_, am I confused, "What? Why?"

Instead of answering me, like a normal human being, he goads me instead, "C'mon, Harry. Lemme talk to her."

I stand firm (despite the fact I'm actually half-sitting in bed), "Not until you tell me why."

He tries again, "Why won't you let me talk to her?"

I search for a reason, because I honestly don't have one. I know he's not asking to talk with her as a favor to Dean, but I still don't know why he'd want to talk to her at all, so finally I come up with: "...Because she's sleeping."

And he _so _does not believe me, "Do you know that for a fact?"

I realize he's only called me up to get the story straight from me, and maybe to harass me about it a little. So, I try to skirt his newest question, staring at the ceiling while I innocently ask, "Why does it matter?"

And he's laughing, "Shit, she's not in your bed with you, is she?"

I sigh, "Ron, I'm hanging up now."

He's still laughing a bit, but when he speaks he sounds slightly amazed, "Fuck, she is, isn't she?"

And then I snap my phone shut.

But I'm soon dialing his number, because there is one particular question I need a serious answer to.

He picks up, "Harry, man, seriously, don't let me keep you from your lady."

I roll my eyes, "Shut up, mate. I have a question."

"Shoot."

"I just need to know who told you Pansy was here."

He sounds sort of surprised, "For real? It was Hermione. You know, we, like, have one of those relationships where we actually talk to each other and shit. I mean, I'm not saying I'm a huge fan of it, but there it is."

I laugh and ask, "So the sex sucks, huh?"

He sighs and answers, "Yeah, the sex sucks."

And then I laugh some more, because he and Hermione will never ever be in that sort of relationship. At least not the sort of relationship where she'd _let _him talk about their sex life. Ha! Yet for some reason it never gets old joking about it.

I faintly hear Hermione in the background saying, "Ronald Weasley, if your mother could hear you..."

To which he replies, "Well, she's gonna hear it from you eventually. Merlin, if I had only known when we decided to lease this house together what it'd really be like... I never would've done it."

But this, I know, is an empty threat. He likes being told what to do by strong female figures. -- I'm not knocking it, but I'm not condoning it either.

Then I hear Ron continue, "Besides, if you call my mum you know you'll only get the rant about us 'living in sin'."

Hermione groans and explains, "You know, Ronald, we'd technically have to be sleeping together for that to be true."

"My mother thinks we are. Fucking, that is."

"You're so vulgar sometimes."

Ron's replies triumphantly, "And there's nothing you can do about it! No one to tattle to! _Yes_!"

And I know that by this point I have completely been forgotten about on my side of the line. I know I could just hang up, but staying on the line is easier in the end, because eventually this argument will be brought up in my presence and it's always good to know what went down, right? _Right_.

"I might still just call your mother."

"Why? So you can get--" then Ron puts on the voice he uses to imitate his mother and continues, "Hermione, why are you living in sin with my son? You're going to go to hell! And honestly, with the war going on, you two really should be making better decisions. You never know when it's all going to be over, sweetheart. You two should just get married and be done with it."

I barely hear her whisper, "Oh my god, that's what she wants, isn't it?"

"You know it."

"But--but... How did that idea ever even _get _into her head?"

"Baby, don't you--"

"Do **not **call me 'baby.'"

Ron seemingly ignores this request and continues, "Don't you remember when we moved in in November? We only had the bed you charmed your parents into buying for you. While I, on the other hand, was still trying to scrape together enough money to buy myself a winter jacket?"

"So...?"

"Oh, for being so SO smart, you're really dense sometimes."

"Ron? Yeah, you need to just spit it out before I call your mother."

"Stop threatening to call my mum! It's not gonna work! We're not Third Years! -- Anyway, okay, so, like, maybe my mum stopped over one day. And you know our house?"

"...Yes, I know our house. We live here. We sleep here. Continue, please."

"Well, that's just the point. Okay? So we just had your bed and the other three bedrooms were devoid of anything whatsoever. Like we were saving them for something else--"

"Because we _were_. I wanted a reading room, you wanted... Wait, what _do _you use your second room for anyway?"

"My mum saw the one bed and the three empty rooms and decided they were open because we were going to fill them with babies."

And wow, this is so entertaining. Maybe if Pansy had friends like Ron and Hermione she wouldn't love the television so much.

Anyway, for some reason Hermione isn't getting it, "What? Start a daycare? That's ridiculous."

"Oh my god, Hermione. Have you been neglecting to take your Miss-Smarty-Pants pills lately? 'Cause, like, wow."

There's a fair amount of silence and I half expect Ron to remember I'm still on the line, but then he starts talking to Hermione again.

"Okay, sorry, really. But, okay, my mom thought we were _together _together, with plans of starting our own little sinful family. 'Cause, like, you know, having only one bed. I mean, never mind the fact we've each got our own now. She thinks _that's _part of our cover."

And NOW she finally gets it, "Oh. No."

Ron laughs, "Yeah. And here we are today! Sinful lovers who won't be tied down by the mores of society! Isn't it romantic?"

"Oh my god. This is bad, Ron. Really bad."

"Nah, it's hilarious."

And it _is _pretty hilarious.

"But, she expects children! From the two of us! Right in the middle of a war! Is she insane?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"We have to tell her that isn't going to happen."

"Wait, it's not? Break my heart, love! -- But, seriously, I think we should let her believe what she wants."

"What? Why!"

"Because it gives her something else to worry about. Other than the war, that is."

"That is so far from even being a valid reason."

Then I finally interject, deciding I've heard enough to keep me informed, "Hey, I hate to interrupt the lovers' quarrel going on there, but I'm gonna go back to sleep."

Ron doesn't even sound surprised to hear I'm still on the line, "Yeah, okay, Harry."

I decide to remind him one more time, "Just try to keep the whole Pansy thing on the down low."

"What? That you're screwing her? Sure thing, mate. I wouldn't want to be the one responsible for tarnishing your unadulterated reputation."

I scoff, "Thanks a million."

He laughs, "No prob."

And then I hang up, letting the two of them get back to their weird relationship.

I finally move my head so I'm not craning it toward the ceiling anymore, only to find Pansy standing at the foot of my bed, staring at me.

Needless to say, I jump about a mile.

"Christ, Parkinson! Ever heard of knocking?"

She blinks a few times and simply says, "The door was open."

I'm about to say something really, super witty when I notice what she's wearing.

Or, rather, what she's _not _wearing. And that would be pants... or, I guess in her case, a skirt.

She notices my eyes drift and immediately snaps her fingers in front of her face saying, "Hey, buddy, I'm up here. Don't act like you've never seen a pair of legs before. With celebrity status like yours, I'm sure you've had your fair share of lays."

And, of course, she's right. I mean, I'm not exactly proud of it, but... there it is. Funny thing is though, no one's ever brought it up (at least in my presence) before. And once again, instead of thinking '_Merlin, what a bitch_,' I give her credit for saying what's on her mind.

But I can't let her know that. So I end up saying, "Was there something you needed?"

She shrugs, "I was just wondering where all the shit Granger brought over yesterday ended up. I'd like to take a shower."

And after she's found the bags and is inside my bathroom, I try really hard not to think of her at all. Especially not in _my _shower.

That is, until she yells, "Hey, I'm gonna need a towel."

I don't respond. Maybe if I ignore it, it'll go away.

But she continues in a loud voice, "...Unless, of course, you expect me to use your grimy towel? 'Cause if you don't get in here soon, that's what I'm gonna do. And when I'm done, I'll blow my nose in it too. I am so not even kidding."

So much for wishful thinking.

I take a deep breath and begin to count to ten. _One. Two. Three. Fo--_

"Potter! Damnit!"

I cringe. And after a moment I finally get out of my bed, walk to the linen closet and retrieve a towel.

And then I just stand there, in front of the closet, staring at the towel. Thinking how stupid it was not to have thought she'd need one before she went into the bathroom... and got naked and ...wet.

Fuck.

Okay! Game plan! I'm gonna think about Quidditch!

So as I start to move toward the bathroom,towel clutched tightly in my hands, I think about just how _awesome _Quidditch is. And I pretend that it's actually working.

* * *

**A/N**: Okay, so I'm thinking my characters might be a little OOC. And, while that's sorta sad, I was wondering what you, my fabulous readers think: should I classify this story as AU? 'Cause I've been trying to make it take place in the HP universe, but I just don't know if it'll fly at the end of the day.

MASSIVE THANKS to my reviewers:

harrison potter: I'm glad you have accepted the modern technologies!

xoPansyxo: aw, your review made me tear up a little, but I'm sorta lame like that. I'm happy you like it so far!

LaBelle Evans: I'm glad you like the two of them together, I was worried it might all seem too soon for them to have a relationship when they don't really know each other all that well. But, I decided that's exactly why their new relationship is what it is.

**Review? **

(3/15/06)


	4. Home Is Where The Big Screen TV Is

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it! Like, for real. ...No, seriously. Okay? Okay!

**Chapter 4**: Home Is Where The Big-Screen TV Is

* * *

I sort of feel like an inmate walking down a corridor that will ultimately lead him to the room where they've sentenced him to die. 

Only, the room I'm going into doesn't have lethal injections or electrical chairs in it, just a naked girl.

But I can't think about that.

So, like, I'm not. Thinking about it, that is.

I open the door and just stick my arm inside, towel dangling from my clenched fist.

A damp hand touches mine before it pulls the towel out of my grasp.

Then I hear her sigh, "Potter, this is s _hand _towel."

And I'm just shocked enough to open the door and ask, "_What_?"

I stare first at the towel, then her face . . . eyes traveling downward, then quickly drop to the floor. 'Cause, you know, I'm not thinking about _it_.

She's still inside the shower, head and right arm poking out from the side of the shower curtain. And she's laughing at me, "Just kidding. Merlin, I haven't seen you this enraptured with the floor since first year at Hogwarts."

I look up at her, firmly locking my eyes on hers, not because the conversation is serious, but just because I'll be damned if I let them drift away again, "I know you're making that up; there's no way you paid attention to me back then. Draco would've never spoken to you again."

She shrugs, "Details. So, you hanging out in here for the rest of the morning or what?"

Eyes still in place, "Well, you know, it _is _my bathroom."

She squints her eyes a bit, like someone does when they've just realized they've become a participant in a staring contest, "You're so right."

And then she just gets out of the shower like it's nothing at all. And, fuck it all, I blink; when I reopen my eyes I am certainly not looking at her face. I should've known better than to engage in a battle of wits with her.

So I have to get angry instead of anything else, because I can do angry, "You are one of the most..."

She smiles, cutting me off, "Beautiful and wonderful women you know? That's okay, Potty, don't be intimidated, I get it all the time. And I promise not to let it go to my head."

I shake my head, suddenly focusing on the corner of the sink, "No, you are just... agh! So frustrating!" I steel myself and return my eyes to her face, "You made such a big deal about my getting you a towel. And what for? You obviously have no qualms about strutting around naked."

She purses her lips, placing her hands on her hips, right hand still holding the towel, chastising me, "Only _you _would have a problem with this situation. --I'm going to give you some friendly advice: cut back on the hanging out with Granger, it's turning you into a prude."

I swallow hard, deciding it's time to take control of the situation, "So, are you even going to consider using the towel?"

She continues as if she doesn't hear me, "Besides, I'm not 'strutting,' but, hell, if you want me to..."

And then she laughs.

And, fuck, she's just doing this to get under my skin. Or maybe into my pants. Wait, nope, that's wishful thinking. I mean, wait... what?

After a few moments -- which include another staring contest, but this time I win -- she finally wraps the towel around herself, and only then can I properly think. And then I wonder why I stayed in the room at all. But then I remember, _Oh, right, the naked girl. That's why_.

For some reason that logic makes all the sense in the world.

And all of this exemplifies quite nicely the reason why I don't have (and sort of don't want) a serious relationship. 'Cause they (girls I engage in these serious relationships with) forever do shit like this to me.

I mean, not like I've had loads of experience with actually being in a relationship with a girl, but, like, I know enough to beware. Seriously.

Besides, it's not like I _want _Pansy, she's still all in love with the ferret boy. Or something.

And me? Well, I'm not sure where I stand in my own personal relationship department.

When she finally stops laughing she says, "Okay, for real. Get out of the bathroom."

And then she physically turns me around and pushes me out the door, shutting it behind me.

I swear I am usually not this lame around girls. At least I don't think so. I mean, if I am, at least _they _have the common courtesy not to let me know.

Once outside the bathroom, my phone rings and I silently rejoice, because I could definitely use the distraction.

I move toward my bed, sitting down on it, and pull the phone out of my pocket, answering without consulting the screen to see who's calling.

"Hello?"

"Harry, I can't find Parkinson anywhere. Or Malfoy. Fuck, I think they must've somehow gotten wind that we were onto them and kited out of town."

Oh, damn. It's Dean. He never did show up at the office yesterday, after his initial stop for Pansy. I didn't bother calling him either; I decided it'd be best to act as if I thought everything was going smoothly.

I finally respond, "Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. Damnit, I'm sorry, man. I fucked up. Big time."

He has no idea how true those words are, only I know he doesn't mean them the way he should.

I sigh, "Well, there's really nothing we can do then. We're just going to have to wait for Malfoy to resurface."

"Yeah, Parkinson too."

One track mind, I tell you, that Dean.

He continues, "Well, that's all I had to tell you. I just thought you should know where we're at."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks."

He hangs up.

And I once again reminded of my commitment to keeping innocent people (in this case, Pansy) out of the Order's grasp. Even if those innocent people drive me insane along the way.

I move back towards the bathroom and call out, "Heya, Pansy, I'm gonna head out. I'll see you after work."

I hear a muffled, "Whatever, Pot-Pot." come from behind the door.

And I can't help but smile a bit, even though I feel slightly deranged for doing so.

o o o

I spend most of the afternoon watching a half dozen of Harry's movies. I start out sitting on the couch, then I move to the floor, then I sit in my usual spot right in front of the TV, and I even watch it with my head hanging upside down from the couch; but I don't do the last one for very long because I get a killer headache.

A killer headache that I know can only be cured by a big bowl of ice cream; extra chocolate syrup, thanks.

So I'm eating just that while slouching up against the base of the couch when he comes home.

I hear him throw his keys in the dish he keeps beside the microwave, take off his shoes and set them on the floor outside his bedroom door, and next, after he's gone and changed out of his suit, I know he'll pop into the living room.

Wow, live with the guy for one day and I already know him? I don't know if I should be the one worried about that or if he should.

Oh well. Back to my ice cream and the movie.

And sure enough, four point three minutes later:

"Hey, Pansy, have a good day?"

And I'll be damned if his hair isn't all ruffled up and just so... cute looking. Oh, and I should mention he's got this smile that just spreads across his whole face.

God, I need to get out more often. Or, you know, at all. Never mind the fact I've only been secluded here for like 29 hours.

But, like, at least it's only his hair that's cute. I mean, _Longbottom_ has cute hair. It's practically an asexual type thing. Isn't it?

And I just stare at him for a few seconds, waiting for the smile to falter. I don't know why I think it should, but I feel an inevitability. -- Probably something severely wrong with my psyche, if I had to guess. -- But it doesn't. Falter, I mean. And I find myself smiling back at that more than simply smiling back at him.

I forget he's asked me a question, remembering only after his eyes crinkle just the tiniest bit and he asks, "So, dinner, hm?"

I give him a blank look and he gestures to my half empty bowl of ice cream.

I shrug and fiddle with the earring in my right earlobe, "Well, it's not like you've got a lot of food here."

He nods, "Yeah, I guess--Wait, I have chocolate syrup?"

I look away from him, down at my bowl and push the ice cream around a bit, watch part of a commercial on the TV, and then back to him. "I guess so."

He lets out a half laugh of sorts and says, "You're so weird."

I roll my eyes and tease, "Thanks, scarface. But take care to remember I'm the guest here. You're supposed to be nice to me and provide me with proper nourishment. And so far all you've done is allow me to OD on Italian bread and forget to give me a towel."

At my mentioning of the towel incident, he turns just the slightest shade of red. And before I can laugh at him about it, I remember that he did, in fact, see me entirely naked. Merlin, being stubborn certainly gets me into some interesting situations.

He shuffles his feet a little and says, "I'll go get my stash of takeout menus. We'll have 'em deliver."

And that's exactly what we do. Tonight it's just a couple of burgers from yet another "place down the street."

We sit in front of the TV yet again and I can't help but think this sort of life just seems so informal for someone as "important" as Potter is. I mean, no food in the refrigerator, dirty laundry piling up in his bathroom, messy bookshelves haphazardly holding DVDs along with books. It's just so... normal. Who knew Harry Potter was normal? I mean, not _normal _normal obviously, but you know.

We're just finishing up our food when I decide to ask a question I've been wondering about:

"Why don't you use magic anymore?"

He rubs at the back of his neck as he replies, "I wouldn't say that I stopped."

I raise my right eyebrow at him, "I haven't seen you use it once."

He looks away from me and down at his Styrofoam box while he explains, "It seems more appropriate for the battlefield. I mean, it's just not necessary for daily life."

He looks up at me and I can see in his eyes he wants for his explanation to be good enough, that he wants me to understand. But I don't, and he knows it.

So he continues, "I don't know if it has something to do with being brought up by muggles, but... I just don't see the need. Life doesn't need to be that easy. I mean, there's something to be said for actually accomplishing something tangible without simply waving my wand about and pairing it with a specific string of words."

I frown, "Says who?"

Instead of answering, he questions me, "You know, I haven't seen you doing any magic either, Parkinson. Maybe our answer lies with you."

I roll my eyes, "I seriously doubt it."

"How about I be the judge?"

I smile, going along with the banter we've seemed to develop, "Yeah, you'd like that."

He holds his hand up in front of him, palms facing me, "Hey, I never asked for the spotlight--"

I remind him, "You sorta just did right now."

"But that's just between me and you. It's different."

"Different how?"

"Uh, hello, Pans? One, Two. There's just you and me. I think there needs to first be a crowd before there's a spotlight."

I consider this, "Unless the entertainment for said crowd is the story of your life. Then the crowd would be pretty sparse. Like, _maybe _two people. But there'd still be a spotlight."

"You know, I'm not an arrogant sort of person, but I think I might resent what you just said there. I mean, if it had made any sense."

I ignore the last bit and continue, "Oh, so you think you're more important than all of that?"

"Yeah, sort of."

"Oh, the modesty in this room! It's overpowering! I'm positively cowed!"

He frowns slightly, "How did we get here in the conversation? Merlin, you're good at changing the subject..."

I laugh, "I just changed it to you and off you went."

He raises both his eyebrows at me, "Funny. But, really, you don't use magic either. Why?"

I skirt the question. I'm an excellent skirter, if I do say so myself, "You know, I think I remember asking you first."

"So you don't want me to abide by 'ladies first'?"

I explain patiently, "That's only for going through doors, sitting in chairs, and getting served food."

He looks amused, "Oh, sorry. I guess I missed that day in finishing school."

I graciously proclaim, "Well, I suppose you're forgiven."

He sighs, "Fine, I give in. What more of an answer do you want?"

"One that makes more sense than 'Life should be hard, damnit!' I mean, what are you? A masochist?"

"Maybe the question is, _is Pansy a masochist_?"

"When did you become a fucking psychiatrist?"

"It's one of my special gifts."

"Probably the _only _one. Too bad you suck at it."

"Whatever, you're not answering my question."

"Which one?"

"The what-more-of-an-explanation-do-you-need one."

I shrug, "I guess I don't need a better one."

"Are you just saying that so I won't ask you about why you don't use magic again?"

"Maybe. Is it gonna work?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Whether or not you really want to talk about it or not."

"I really don't."

"Okay. We'll talk about something else."

"All right. What?"

"Your pick."

"But I picked last time."

"Well, you get one more shot at conversation. Tread lightly. You mess this up, I'm throwing you out."

"Well, aren't you just the perfect gentleman?"

He looks at his nails critically, for what reason, I can't fathom, "Why, yes, I do believe so. Don't get too close to me though, I might lure you in with my charm and good looks."

"Wow, um, jeeze, thanks for the warning, but I think I'll be fine."

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Okay, I've been warned. It's been noted and documented for future reference and shit."

"Super."

"So..."

"So."

"Okay, fine. What happened with the Order to change your mind?"

He shrugs, "Well, an explanation depends entirely on how much you know about the Order."

I think for a moment and reply, "Only that it first came about during the Dark Lord's first rise to power, and reestablished after his second rising."

"Okay, well. Things went steadily downhill after Dumbledore's death. We were almost quite literally torn to pieces through Snape's seeming betrayal."

I raise my eyebrows at this, 'seeming betrayal'? Interesting.

"Mostly because Dumbledore had trusted Snape the most, and if he had been wrong about him, who else in the rest of the wizarding world, let alone the Order, had he been wrong about?

"Once things like that begin to be questioned, reason is no longer employed. We were all scared and we just wanted the truth. -- The truth from Snape most of all. Because if he could give us some sort of reason as to why he killed Dumbledore, then maybe there might be hope for everything else we ever believed.

"So we hunted him for months, finally catching up with him in Romania. Though, Merlin knows why he had chosen there to hide.

"Anyway, I wasn't informed of his capture immediately; they kept it from me. And by the time I learned we had him in our custody he was dead."

I can't help but gasp a little, "Dead?"

He casts his gaze to the floor just left of the TV screen, "It was Lavender and Seamus. And I didn't believe it at first. But they had been just so angry and so desperate for information..."

I don't want to know, but I feel the need to ask anyway. "What did they do?"

"It didn't involve much magic. They said it would've been too good for him."

"So what happened to them?"

"I dismissed them myself, but the only lesson it taught the others like them was to be more discrete and less visibly violent."

He turns his gaze on me, and I notice his eyes are sort of glistening a bit more than normal. He continues, "But those people are all I have backing me up. And now we've become just like _them_."

I sit there wondering if this is one of those times where I'm supposed to just keep my mouth shut, or if I'm supposed to have something deep and meaningful to say.

However, I don't have to figure it out, because we're interrupted by someone knocking at the door.

But who knows why they bothered knocking at all, because the next thing I hear is a key in the door.

And I'm sort of thinking, "Wow, uh, déjà vu much? 'Cause, like, yeah."

Potter's already on his feet and out of the living room.

I also wonder why everyone and their mother has a key to his flat. I mean, being such an crucial person in this whole war thing, you'd think he'd be a bit more strict about security.

But then again, he's got a potential felon as a house guest. And by potential felon, I mean me. By Dean Thomas' standards, anyway.

I hear Harry say, "No, it's really not a good time."

A female voice asks, "Oh, really? Why is it I don't believe you, Harry?"

He sounds slightly frustrated, "Ugh, I don't know why. Look, I'm not feeling well. Can I call you tomorrow?"

I hear her sigh, "I can't talk to you about this on the phone."

And I know he's going to give in to whomever he's talking to.

He does, "Okay, let's talk about it."

An expectant silence and then, "...You're not going to invite me in?"

"Gin, we are in. The kitchen counts as being in."

Ginny Weasley? Seriously, you've got to be kidding me. Those two are still trying to work something out in the relationship department? Wow.

She sort of sounds like she's going to cry as she continues, "It does _not _count as being in. Can we go into the living room?"

And I'm thinking, "Yeah, Potter, you dope, don't be rude, invite the girl in!"

But then I remember _I'm _in the living room. And, like, my being here is supposed to be a secret. A secret to more people than just Dean and his fanatical followers, I guess.

I hear Harry clear his throat, "I, uh..."

Oh, he's so eloquent. That _must_ be what attracts her to him.

He's still struggling, "I mean, uh... No?"

When she speaks again, the quiver in her voice is so long gone it's like it was never there at all. Her voice is stone cold and totally firm, "No?"

Wow, he's sure sinking fast out there. I mean, in another place and time I might feel like I should come to his rescue. But, like, not tonight. I'm staying on the down low. I lucked out, if you ask me.

After what seems like ages he finally responds, "Look, are you sure it can't wait until tomorrow? I promise that tomorrow I'll have all the time in the world for you. We can do lunch."

I hear her _tsk _and say, "Whatever, Harry. God, I don't even know why I bothered coming over here. I should've known you'd pull some sort of shit like this. I mean, do you even care?"

He responds immediately and with more emotion in his voice than I thought possible, "Of _course _I care. You know that."

She replies in an almost whisper, "I wish I did."

There's yet another silence between them and in those quiet moments I finally realize I've been eavesdropping. Oops. But, really, it's not my fault entirely, he turned down the TV before he left the room.

It finally becomes painfully clear (even to me) he's not going to reply to her last comment, and she softy says, "I'll see you tomorrow then. Call me when you know what time you're taking your break."

He answers quietly, "Okay, Gin. See you."

I hear the door opening and she speaks again, "We're never going to be like how we were, are we?"

He sighs, "I don't know, love. I mean, I wish we could be."

Cynicism drips from her voice as she points out, "You make it sound as if you don't have a choice in the matter."

He replies plainly, "I don't."

"You know you do."

He sighs again, "You just don't understand..."

"Maybe that's because you won't explain it to me. Shit, after all these years, I've still yet to penetrate into the group you, Hermione, and Ron formed all those years ago."

"Gin--"

She continues recklessly, "I'm just an outsider, stuck in the doorway of the boy I've loved for ten years."

His voice is full of warning, stating, "That is enough."

She tightly replies, "Yeah, it probably is."

And then the door slams.

* * *

**A/N**: Ohmigod, not the angst monster! Wow, um, so, like, I'm not the biggest Harry/Ginny shipper in the world, if you couldn't tell. 

Anyway, EnlightenedKing, I knew the question would arise eventually, so I addressed it a little in the chapter, but overall, no, there's not going to be any magic.

Drew, hopefully Harry's answer to Pansy's question cleared things up a little bit on the trust-issues thing. It's just sort of like you can never really trust someone else's motivations; and now Harry's got a reason not to trust certain members of the Order.

LaBelle Evans, your review made me smile! I'm going to try to keep the humor in, but that darn plot might get in the way every once in awhile, just stick with me:)

harrison potter, thank you for responding to my question! Oh, and flirting? Soon, my friend.

**Thanks **to everyone above _and _forgotmyself, noone, Delrious, rebirthofham, fredstickler, and Reluctance for reviewing! It means a lot to me that you take the time to do so!

**Review?**

(3-24-06)


	5. Should've Thought Things Through

**Disclaimer**: Lacking creativity after writing the rest of this chapter. We'll just go with the standard: I don't own Harry Potter or anything else you may recognize.

**Chapter 5**: Should've Thought Things Through

* * *

I stare at the door Ginny has just exited (rather dramatically, might I add) out of. I take a deep breath and turn away.

And there's Pansy standing in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a now crusty ice cream bowl and an empty Styrofoam box.

She stares at me for a few seconds before she moves to the garbage can, throwing away the box, and then to the sink, filling the bowl with water.

After she wipes her hands off on the towel next to the sink she turns to me, leaning against the countertop.

"So, you and Gin Weasley? Honestly, Harry."

I grimace, "I know. It's just..."

And I don't know what to say after that. I mean, she wants me to explain what just happened here and I don't think I can -- don't think I _want _to.

"Don't you dare say complicated," she warns, "I'm so not even close to being the type of person who will swallow that."

I shake my head, "No, it's just that we're close, you know?"

She gives me a look that can only be classified as entirely dubious.

"Like sibling close," I try to explain further.

She raises just one eyebrow, "Oookay? So, you, like, get off on kissing someone who's like a sister to you?"

I roll my eyes disgustedly at her, but other than that ignoring the question, choosing instead to explain (even though I'd really truly rather not), "She's on Dean's side with this whole thing, and she thinks I might know where Malfoy is -- where you are."

Her mouth forms a small 'o' shape before she states, "Shit."

I half shrug, "Yeah, pretty much," then I continue, "And she just can't understand how someone who had as much "potential" as I do could go so "wrong."

"Welcome to my world, baby," she half laughs.

And I have to ask, "You went wrong?"

She smiles, "So wrong. I mean, duh. Look at me," she spreads her arms out, palms facing me, "I'm sharing a living space with Harry Potter, soon-to-be savior of the human race. I'm supposed to be all for killing a good three-fourths of it. The human race, I mean."

And, wow, she is so weird sometimes.

"But you're not." It's a statement more than a question. Sort of.

"Obviously," she replies in a monotone voice.

"Yeah."

I shuffle my feet a bit. Having truthful conversations is a bit awkward. Especially when they're with Pansy.

"Yeah..."

Okay, so she must think so too.

She seems to search for something to say, finally deciding on, "So do you think she'll be back?"

"Who--oh, Ginny?"

"Yeah." she answers softly.

I smile a bit, because I know Ginny so well, "Nah, she's too angry to come back tonight. I'll talk to her tomorrow."

"I, uh... have a question."

Her eyes divert from mine, instead focusing on the dishtowel she's picked up off of the counter.

"Shoot."

She glances up at my from behind her eyelashes, "Why'd you call her _love_?"

I frown a bit, "Would you believe me if I said it was a Freudian slip?"

She once again returns my gaze evenly, "Maaay-be. Would that be the truth?"

"Not exactly," I confess, "more of a habit than anything, really."

"You don't say."

I nod, "Yeah, that's all."

She shrugs, "Well, okay. I was just wondering."

"Um, okay."

"Yeah."

And it's funny how a lot of our conversations end up with both of us simply saying 'okay' or 'yeah' a few times before we retreat to the living room complete with its TV to fill up the voids in our strange conversations.

She places the towel back down on the counter and states, "So, there's this movie on tonight."

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Yep," she nods, "It starts in a few minutes. You wanna make some popcorn?"

I look at her incredulously, "We just ate..."

She looks at me like I'm a moron, "Your point being?"

"Just that, Pansy," I state, as if it's obvious, "You can't possibly be hungry."

She blinks a few times before responding psuedo-seriously, "I can be whatever I want to be, Pot-Pot. My mum told me so when I was growing up. Don't tell me she lied. I won't take it well. I mean, she told me I could be an astronaut, for Merlin's sake. And I don't even want the moon, just some popcorn."

I can't help but smile as she motions toward the cabinet that holds the popcorn.

"C'mon, just do it," she prods me, "You know you wanna do it. All the cool kids are doing it."

I widen my eyes, "Oh, well, if all the cool kids are doing it..."

She smiles in satisfaction, "Ex-act-ly. I knew you wouldn't let me down, kid."

She winks at me before retreating (once again) into the living room.

And so I dig out the microwave popcorn, making two bags because I already know from experience that she won't be the sharing type. Especially when there's food involved.

o o o

The next morning I take my shower (though god knows why I bother since Harry's the only one who sees me anyway) and am just getting back into my room when I hear a sharp tap at my window.

I quickly pull on the t-shirt I'm borrowing from Harry to use as a nightshirt before I raise the blinds; and it's Bootes (pronounced BOA-tease), Draco's brown owl, still eagerly pecking at the windowpane. You see, she's named after a constellation, just like the other family members of the house of Black-- Oh, forget it, no one cares about why the fucking owl has such a stupid name anyway. But, like, Draco LOVES this owl. Way more than he's ever loved me; I am totally positive about that.

I unlatch and open the window and she comes fluttering in, perching on top of the bookshelf, letter securely attached to her leg -- just out of reach. She totally knows exactly what she's doing too. I'm going to need a couple (dozen) treats to get her to come down.

So I yell, "Hey, Potter!"

Because, like, he's got to have some owl food around here somewhere, right?

And while I wait for a response, I jump wildly at Bootes, trying to scare her down or something. And yes, that is the best game plan I can come up with. This damn owl always did hate me. Maybe if I had a ladder...

"Potter!"

Nothing. Okay, time for the big guns.

I flop down onto the bed, take a deep breath and begin to scream insanely, "Oh my god! Fire! Potter! Fire! Come quick!"

And that does the job quite nicely, since he comes running into the room dripping wet, towel wrapped around his waist within a matter of seconds.

Wait, why is one of us always half naked whenever we're together in the morning lately? Hm, I'll wonder about that one later.

He takes a couple darting glances around the room before he spots me sprawled out across the bed, sort of giggling at him.

Okay, so I'm _really _giggling at him. Which is stupid, 'cause giggling is _such _a girly thing to do. Well, I suppose yelling 'fire'to get attention might be a bit girly too. I guess we'll never know.

Anyway, he is _so _not happy with me.

He's actually sort of angry, "Shit, Pansy! I _thought _you were lying, but I had to know for sure."

I ask, "Were you planning on putting the fire out with that wet towel you've got there? 'Cause that'd be hot." And then I laugh at myself, because I'm really quite funny.

He ignores everything I've said, instead putting on his lecture voice, "Do you think you're funny or something?" -- _Ohmigod, does he read minds or something? _--"Did you never learn about the boy who cried wolf?"

And I just have to say it, because it's too good of an opportunity to let slip by, I put on my innocent face and ask, "School stories about Remus Lupin? Nah, I can't say I have. We're from different circles, you see. Well, and breeds too."

The look on his face says I've gone too far. Damn, now I'm never gonna get those owl treats ...or my letter for that matter.

He blinks a few times, staring down at me, and I suddenly wish I was standing eye level with him. He simply says, "I'm leaving for work now. Just keep out of trouble this afternoon, that's all I ask."

Then he exits the room, leaving wet footprints on the carpeted floor. And I let him go because there's nothing else I can do.

When I finally get my letter (it involved throwing forks at Bootes for two hours, which is more dangerous than it might sound), I do a triumphant little dance, because it's the biggest thing I've managed to accomplish in over three days.

I shoo the owl out the window, hoping she'll take her hungry mood out on Draco, you know, maybe peck an eye out or something; and I go sit at the kitchen table to read the letter:

The first thing I see is his old nickname for me "Snap."

See, back when we were small (...having never truly been the 'innocent' part of the old cliché _young and innocent_) we'd owl each other little notes, "coding" them by writing random things backwards and sometimes shortened up. Thus, I became "Snap" and Draco became "Card".

Yeah, it's stupid. And we haven't called each other by those names for ages; I'm surprised he's remembered at all -- surprised that _I _remember.

Anyway:

"Snap,

I know you won't believe me if say I've been missing you -- that I've been wondering where you are. Strangely enough it's true though.

But I just need to tell you not to come home to the Manor. Things are... not as they should be right now.

I'm in trouble, Snap. And it's serious, even though I've often found myself in worse situations before. But this time I think I'm more alone than I've ever been, and it's all my fault.

Wherever you are, you need to watch your back. Don't trust anyone. Just keep a low profile and I'll find you when it's safe.

Yours,

Card"

I let my head hit the top of the table and the letter.

Fuck.

I don't know _what _to think about the letter. Should I be glad he knows he's in trouble? Should I be worried he'll find me in Potter's flat? What if they follow him here? What then? And why didn't he go into any sort of explanation? As far as he knows I still have no idea the war is still continuing on.

After a few minutes I get up from the table, picking up the letter as I move towards the nearest telephone, plan firmly set in my mind.

o o o

I get home from the office completely worn out. It's surprisingly hard work to pretend to be looking for someone when you know exactly where they are.

_No, Dean, I heard someone last spotted them in Sudan. -- No, I don't know why the fuck they'd be there, but then again, I've never been on the run. I can't exactly relate. -- Yeah, maybe you should head over there and check it out. -- No, I don't know what sort of weather they have there this time of year. -- Yeah, okay, I'll talk to you in a few days. Good luck with your search. -- Yep, 'bye._

Anyway, I notice two things after I close my door: The first being all the lights are off and the second being that the TV is off as well.

For a moment I wonder if I did, in fact, remember to pay the electrical bill last moth. But then I try the switch closest to me and the room is instantly flooded with fluorescent light.

Shit. Where _is _Pansy?

I look in her room first, even check under her bed. Though, I can't be quite sure what possessed me to look there at all.

Finally I hear water running in my bathroom, which, subsequently, is where I find her.

I open the door and see her standing in front of the mirror at my sink, holding what looks slightly like a ketchup bottle, squirting dark junk onto her head.

I'm pretty stunned when I ask, "Pansy, what do you think you're doing?"

She replies simply, "I'm dying my hair."

Holy hell, is she bipolar or something? 'Cause that's one of the few things that could explain her behavior.

A load of questions race through my mind all at once, but the only one I can voice is probably the least important.

"Where'd you get the dye from?"

"I called Ron."

"You sent Ron on an errand to pick you up _hair dye_?"

She rolls her eyes, "Like he seriously has better things to do with his time?"

I shoot her a serious look, but she doesn't see it.

It is pointless, I know, to argue with her about this.

I squint at the liquid on her head, and ask the next least important question "But what color _is_ it?"

She tilts her chin up (sort of defiantly), "Black."

"_My _hair's black," I remind her, for no real reason at all.

She glares at me through the mirror, "Yeah, that's just swell, Potter. Do you honestly think just because you've got black hair no one else in the world is entitled to as well?"

"Do you have some underlying need to be like me or something? Do we need to talk about this?"

Okay, so maybe I should've been a bit more sincere there...

"Don't be mean," she instructs, sort of reminding me of Hermione, "I'm doing this."

"But why?"

I ask only because I can't fathom what her reasoning behind any of this could possibly be.

"Because I want to. Fuck!"

She slams the bottle down a little too hard in my opinion down on the countertop.

"...You're getting dye all over my sink," I say quietly.

She responds quickly, "It'll wash off."

"Um, I don't think so Pans..."

"Look," she says, facing me for the first time, "just leave me alone."

"I don't know if that's such a--"

She shakes her head a bit and I worry that the dye is going to start dripping off all over the floor, "Okay, I know this is your sink, in your bathroom, in your flat, but seriously, Potter? Get the fuck out."

But I can't leave, I'm, like, obligated to help people when they need it.

"Just explain why you're doing this, then I'll go."

She yells, "Because I feel like it!"

And, wow, is this ever super interesting.

I ask, "You know you sound like an angsty fifteen year old, right?"

She purses her lips, turning back to the mirror, catching my eyes through it, "Correction, an angsty fifteen year old who is dying her hair black."

"...Because her parents and friends just don't understand her?"

She nods, "So she's dying her hair to show them, to show the FUCKERS how she feels on the inside. To prove to them how much she could fucking care less what they think."

Eyes still locked on hers I state, "If she had any real guts, she'd just chop the whole lot off."

She looks away, explaining, "But then boys would think she was just ugly instead of angry. Boys can like angry girls, but not ugly ones."

"Maybe the entire thing is about a boy from the beginning," I suggest quietly.

"Maybe. And a stupid boy too, who is so used to getting what he wants that everyone he knows thinks he deserves to get exactly what he wants, when he wants it."

"And he wants the blonde, pretty girl?"

"Yeah," she affirms, while incorporating more of the liquid shit into her hair, "and for a moment she thinks she wants him too, but then she realizes she doesn't. It's too late by then, she's promised. Not that promises mean anything to anyone anymore, but they do to her."

"So there's really nothing left for her to do, is there?"

"Nope. She just has to make the stupid boy fall out of love with her. And, let's face it," her eyes meet mine again, "he only loves her for her appearance."

"Pans, that's not true. You're beautiful." And the words sound really strange coming from my lips, but oddly enough I couldn't have meant it more. It's slightly disconcerting. And by 'slightly' I mean 'really'.

"Hey, you're the one that freaked out when you saw the black dye," she reminds me, "Besides, this isn't about me. It's about the angsty fifteen year old who's dating a vain chump."

"Oh, right," I nod, "I'd forgotten."

She replies evenly, "Well, don't. These details are pivotal to the story."

"There's more to it?"

"There's always more to the story than meets the eye. You of all people should understand that."

I ask, "Okay, tell me the rest of the story?"

She puts down the bottle of dye, and I take great care not to point out the fact it's oozing out the top, down the sides, and making a very permanent mess all over the countertop. My landlord is gonna hate me when I move out.

She nods and sits down on top of the closed toilet and I perch myself on the edge of the bathtub, hands folded in my lap.

"So there's the blonde girl, right? And she has always been just _so _enamored with this blonde boy.

"At first she doesn't know why, because she shouldn't feel _that_ way about him; they've been friends forever. But things changed when they went to school, the boy sort of ignores the girl. And she thinks it's because she's not pretty enough, not smart enough, not pure enough.

"So when she asks him if any of that is the case, he tells her he doesn't like her because _it's all true and then some_. And it breaks her heart. Really.

"So when she goes home that summer, her mum teaches her about life. I know it sounds cliché, but she does. She teaches the blonde girl to be so much more than just that; you know, _the blonde girl_. She teaches her to speak her mind, to see the flaws in other people. And it makes her feel so much better about herself, because who knew the rest of the people in the world were so far _below _her?

"It's when she returns to school the next year, when she starts treating the blonde boy like shit, that he finally changes his mind about her. And while she used to spend her time chasing him, he begins to chase her. And, fuck, is it ever fun. So they spend the next odd five years chasing each other, getting caught every now and then.

"They're not a traditional couple, but for some reason they make each other happy. At least it's the closest to being happy either of them have ever let themselves be. One day he even gives her a ring, paired with a question. The girl doesn't want to say yes, but she does anyway. Because this is how her life is supposed to go.

"But that same day, the girl finds out she's in danger. And while this would be the part in most other stories where the blonde boy would fly in on his shiny broom and whisk her away to safety, that's not what happens.

"Instead the blonde boy waits three whole fucking days without hearing from the blonde girl before sending her an owl. And the letter doesn't even explain anything about the mess he's managed to get her in, just that he'll come for her when it's safe. I mean, what if the girl doesn't _need_ rescuing? Especially from someone like him, even if he does say he misses her."

She pulls off a few sheets of toilet paper and wipes at her eyes.

I realize I can't remember at what point in her story she began to cry.

And all I can think is _what is a guy supposed to say to all of that_? I mean, yeah, their relationship is royally fucked up. And yeah, it sucks.

So I ask, "You got a letter from him today?"

She nods, "Right before I called fire. Like that boy you were talking about or whatever the hell."

I can't help but laugh.

And she shrugs, "So, you can see the fifteen year old is pretty fucked up."

I shake my head, "Nah, that's not true. It just takes time for people to adjust -- to figure out what needs to change to make the situation work."

"Hence the black hair dye," she reminds me.

"Yeah. See? She gets it, on some level. She's a smart girl. She'll be okay."

She looks up from the wad of tissue in her hands, "You really think so?"

"I do," I say sincerely, "nothing lasts forever. Now, you can sit around worrying about things ending, or you can look forward to the new things that will come along. Change doesn't have to be a bad thing."

She attempts a smile and I see her lips quiver just a bit, "Yeah, especially if change involves a big screen TV."

I stand and sympathetically smiling at her I say, "Yeah, especially then."

And then I do something that surprises me. I reach out my hand toward her, as if asking for hers.

She looks up at me hesitantly through slightly puffy eyes and asks, "Potter?"

I smile, "Hey, let's go order food, hm? We can do breakfast for dinner. It'll be excellent."

Even more surprisingly, she reaches out and takes my hand. And it's only when I feel the half dried squishy mess on her hand that I remember she's got a whole hell of a lot of dye on her head.

"Uh, Pans?"

"Yeah?"

"How long were you supposed to leave that stuff in?"

"Stuff?"

"The dye stuff..."

She drops my hand instantly, jumping to her feet and looking in the mirror, crying, "Oh, shit! Shit, my hair!"

Wow, our little emotional moment we had going there just died. Big time.

I turn to the sink to wash my hand off while she turns the tap on in the bathtub and promptly douses her head underneath it, black dye streaming off her scalp and down the drain.

I leave the bathroom quietly, taking special care to leave a towel for her right beside the tub.

About ten minutes later I hear an alarming wail from the bathroom.

I cautiously move back toward the bathroom, preparing myself to tell her it looks great, no matter how it really looks. Because, I mean, there's no way it's gonna look good, right?

She's sitting on the closed toilet again, staring at the floor. And, wow, her hair is black.

"Don't say it."

"Say what?"

"Don't lie and tell me it looks good. I mean, fuck, I don't even look like I have _eyebrows_!"

She looks up from the floor to my face. And she's right. About the eyebrows, I mean. It's actually a little scary.

I guess I wasn't able to hold back my alarmed expression, because pretty soon she's wailing into the dye-stained towel she's holding in her left hand.

God, I suck with girls.

Okay, I can do this. I can do this!

"Pansy, I..."

Shit, I can't do this.

She brings her face up from the towel and I see a determined look has overtaken her features.

She clears her throat and states, "I'm going to need you to do something for me."

Thank Merlin! Something I can _do_!

"Name it."

"I need you to go to the nearest drugstore and buy a black eyeliner pencil."

"A what?"

"You heard me. Now, go! Scoot!"

And once again I am bodily moved out of my bathroom.

* * *

**A/N**: Okay folks, the Harry Ginny thing. Gosh, what to say... I was terribly amused by the negative reactions I got about it. Um, yeah. Just stirring things up a bit, people! Glad to know I'm not the only anti-Harry/Ginny person in the world. :)

harrison potter: Homemade food does not exist in this universe. Oh yeah, I just went there. ;) Yeah, he really does need to change his locks. But, like, he's a busy guy. He'll get around to it in good time :)

LaBelle Evans: Thanks soooo much for that review, it was great. I'm sorry I went and psyched you out. Don't be afraid, I'm not a Harry/Ginny shipper. Forgive me?

Enchanted King: Oh! Look at this! Another chapter of my not abandoned story! It took me a bit longer to get it up, but if it's any consolation I've been writing bits for future chapters! You have a good day too!

Everyone else:

Hey, you. Yeah. You. I know you're reading this. And do you know what else I know? That you're not reviewing. And, like, that's sort of sad, because reviews totally make my day. Yeah, I'm sort of sad like that. But, like, the power to brighten the day of an altogether average-middle-class-twenty-something is in your power! For real! So, like, I'm gonna plead. Drop me a line? Just say you read it, that's good enough for me, I swear.

**Review?**

(4/4/06)


	6. Like I'll Never Be Same

**Disclaimer**: Follow the clues that lead to the ultimate truth... I don't own Harry Potter! Or anything else you recognize, for that matter. Thanks and have a nice day!

**Chapter 6**: Like I'll Never Be Same

* * *

Eyeliner. Eyeliner.

Okay, eyeliner.

I mean, this is simple right? I just have to _remember _to pick up some eyeliner.

I keep reminding myself: eyeliner. eyeliner.

Damn, traffic sucks at 6 o'clock at night.

I guess one might wonder why I bother driving at all. But it's sort of like what I told Pansy; life has so many big obstacles in life, you've got to be able to handle the small ones before you'll be equipped to handle the bigger ones. Like saving the world and shit.

But it's times like these when my fingers literally itch to simply pull out my wand and apparate myself there.

I don't though. Instead I just remind myself of how much I truly dislike apparating (no, I never did get over the icky squishy feeling). It's totally worse, in my opinion, than sitting in rush hour traffic in my car because I'm on my way to the drug store to buy... uhm...?

Oh, right! Eyeliner.

Eyeliner, okay.

Green light. Yes! I'm moving!

Shit, now yellow light.

No one saw that, right?

o o o

I stare into the mirror. I silently thank whatever higher power is out there that this particular mirror isn't a magical one that can talk back.

I can just picture it:

_"Mirror, mirror on the wall..." _I'd begin.

To which it would quickly respond_, "Hey, you. Yeah, the girl with the seemingly dead animal on her head. Don't you even think about asking who's the fairest of them all. I'm not going to lie, you know."_

Then, I, of course, would fib,_ "I, uh... hadn't planned--"_

But, like, the mirror would be way smarter than that, _"Sure, sure you hadn't. I'm not a vanity mirror, you know."_

_"No, I know. You're above a sink, after all." _Stating the obvious could help the situation. You know, maybe.

Or not._ "Clever, aren't you? I guess you have to have brains since you missed out on the beauty part."_

And I'd get all indignant_, "Hey, I looked pretty decent before the dye incident."_

And then the mirror would take a tone with me_, "Oh, mmhmm, I'm so sure."_

Still indignant, I'd continue, _"It's true. Besides, who says your opinion matters anyway? You're just a glorified medicine cabinet!"_

And yeah.

Fuck, I hate this mirror.

Oh, wait. None of that actually happened.

Sorry, mirror. Truce?

...Wait. Why am I talking to the non-magical mirror in my mind anyway?

And where is Potter?

I leave the bathroom, opting, of course, for the living room; after all, the TV is waiting for me!

o o o

After finding a drug store, I spend seven minutes looking for a place to park. And then, finally, success!

I'm in the store within a matter of minutes ...and then my cell rings.

Caller ID says it's Ron.

I flip the phone and bring it to my left ear.

Still sort of euphoric from my parking success, I answer with a loud, "Hey, Ronnie!"

He immediately groans, "Shut up, Harry."

I feign innocence as I ask, "What'd I do?"

He half mutters a reply, "You know what you did. Stupid nickname."

I let out an overly dramatic sigh, "Okay, fine. Sorry."

But I'm not. Sorry, I mean. I get a kick out of annoying Ron, it's just so easy what with him being a redhead and all. What are best friends for anyway?

I guess I've been forgiven since he changes the topic, "Do you know what your houseguest asked me to do for her today?"

I laugh, "Dirty, sexual favors? Yeah, I heard."

"Ha-ha, you bastard," he deadpans, "As if."

I clear my throat and continue normally, "I know what she asked you to do, but if you've called to complain, you might as well get it out of your system. You know, before Hermione gets home and you complain about it to her and then she gets angry. 'Cause you know she will."

"Yeah, mate, I know..." he sighs, "Remind me again what I was thinking moving in with her?"

"Uhm," I search for an answer, "'_the girl can cook and clean for me, like my mum_'?"

He waxes poetic, "Oh, to be naive like that once again."

I respond idly, "I hear you." ...because I _have_ heard this SO many times.

He goes further off point, "Anyway, do you know what she was harping on me about the other day?"

I take a complete shot in the dark --or, you know, not--, venturing, "Being vulgar?"

He genuinely sounds surprised as he responds quickly, "Fuck, how did you know?"

I roll my eyes, "Well, for one, she's always 'harping' on you about it; and for two, I was on the other end of the line."

"That happens a lot to you doesn't it? Getting stuck in the middle of our arguments, I mean."

And, wow, this is the most insightful Ron's been in awhile.

But I can't go into insights with him, "Uh. Yeah. Look, the Pansy thing?"

Okay, so it's more like I really don't want to get into a yet another long-winded conversation about Hermione. Besides, she usually walks into the room halfway through the conversation when Ron's saying something really mean. And then she'll run away crying. --Ron's the only one that can make her cry anymore.-- Anyway, after that's happened, I always end up having to come over, coax her into letting me into her room to talk to her, and then convince her not to either: move out, kill Ron, or both. And I don't really have time for that. I came here to buy... something.

Fuck, what was it?

Ron interrupts my thoughts, "Oh, yeah, right. Do you know what she called me at work to go out and buy her?"

"I do." I affirm, but amend, "Tell me anyway."

"Black hair dye!" he exclaims, "She fucking called me at _work_, to run an _errand _for her."

"I know," I sigh, "I'm sorry, mate."

"I mean, why the hell did she even need dye? Couldn't she've, like, transfigured her hair or something?"

And that is probably one of the most accurate points Ron has made all week. Why _didn't _Pansy simply transfigure her hair? ...I'll bet it has something to do with the reason I never see her using magic. I'd ask her about it if I thought I'd get an answer. But I know I won't. Get an answer, that is. She's a stubborn one.

I hear a far-off voice call out on the other end of the line, "Honey, I'm home!"

Well, at least someone's in a good mood.

Ron laughs, "My love! You were gone for so long! My life was an empty and meaningless void for the entire twenty minutes of solitude I experienced when I got home and you weren't here!"

I hear a small noise I assume to be her kissing his cheek, when she speaks again her voice is much closer than before, "And who are you ignoring on the other end of the line?"

"Nobody, really. Just Harry."

I sincerely believe it's these guys that keep me grounded. I mean, I'm _nobody_. Isn't that great?

Hermione calls out, "Hello, Harry!"

I smile and say, "Tell her I say 'hi' too"

Which he does. Such an obedient guy.

Now it's just a matter of time until I'm forgotten about on my end of the line. Again.

Three. Two. One:

"Ron, what are you planning on making for dinner tonight?"

"Me? Make food? Are you serious?"

"You know I am. It's your turn tonight."

"I don't know about that, Hermione. I gave my mum my schedule of days I have to cook, and she hasn't brought anything over today, so I'm thinking you're definitely wrong."

At this point in the conversation, I'm thinking it's a mistake to tell Hermione she's wrong about anything. I consider telling Ron this, but I don't get a chance since a short old lady comes out of fucking nowhere and totally whacks me in the shin with her cane.

I can only assume it's because I'm standing in front of the nutritional bars. Whatever the reason, I move as quickly as I can with an injured leg to the next aisle over.

I interrupt their quickly escalating conversation, "God, some old lady just caned me!"

To which Ron replies, "In your flat? Why the fuck is there an old lady--is it the manager? Did you get another stain on your carpet?"

"No, no," I explain as I bend over to rub my leg, "I'm in a drugstore picking ...something up for Pansy."

Curiosity gets the better of him, "What does she need now?"

I search my mind, "I, er, uh..."

Fuck, what _was _it?

He laughs, "That's rough, man--"

But I cut him off, practically shouting, "Eyeliner!"

I am SO proud of myself for remembering!

He lets out an indignant laugh, "So she _has_ roped you into doing random shit for her too? Why does she think she can order us around?"

I hear Hermione ask, "Whom?" in the background. We, of course, both ignore her.

"Um, well, maybe because she isn't allowed to leave my flat?"

I mean, obviously.

"Oh, right," he admits, "...well, I still say it isn't right."

I sigh, "Get over it, man. I promise she won't do it again."

He sounds more than just a bit jaded as he states, "Ha, like you have control over her."

Hermione interrupts, "Ron, whom are you talking about? I don't think you're being very nice, whomever it is."

Ron begins to reply, "I--" but cuts himself off short. He's getting better at holding back saying the first thing that springs to his mind when talking to her.

Well, at least _he _thinks it's progress. I sort of just think she's training him to do what she wants him to do.

He speaks back into the phone to me, "Look, Harry, I gotta go. Good luck with your mascara hunt. You know what you'll be running out to get next if you keep this little go-fetch game you've got going on with her though..."

I focus on what he just said, I mean, he said 'mascara', right? Okay, mascara.

"Harry?" he questions.

I come out of my thoughts, "Yeah, Ron?"

"You _do _know what she'll be sending you out for next if you don't lay down the law soon, right?"

"Uh," I think about it for a moment, but it's sort of hard because my leg is still throbbing a bit and all I want to do is track down that old lady and... well, just give her a stern look, I suppose,

"No, I don't know."

He laughs, "Well, you think about it, mate."

And then he hangs up.

I bring the phone away from my ear and glare at it.

And I would dwell on my immense dislike for Ron at this particular moment in time, but I have things to do.

Like buy... was it mascara?

That doesn't sound right. Does it?

Shit.

o o o

I nearly jump out of my skin when my cell rings, despite the fact it's buried in my purse in the other room. I all but completely panic, first finding myself frozen in front of the TV, afraid to go see who's calling me. I mean, it's the first phone call I've gotten since I've disappeared. Which, when you think about it, is kind of weird in itself, that no one's tried calling me, I guess they apparently haven't noticed I'm missing yet or something.

And under normal circumstances, I might ponder that thought for awhile longer, but SOMEONE IS CALLING ME!

So when I am finally able to move, I scramble over the couch (since I guess I can't be bothered to simply walk around it) and quickly make my way down the hallway to my room.

I yell to the phone, "Just hold on one sec! I'm coming! Don't hang up!"

Because, you know, it can hear me and will obey.

Riiiight.

Anyway, when I finally dig it out of my purse, Caller ID reads "H. Potter."

What the fuck?

I flip my phone open and ask just that, "What the fuck, Potter?"

"Hello to you too, sunshine." he replies brightly.

I ignore him, "So...?"

"So, indeed," he agrees.

How annoying.

"So," I say after a moment or so of silence, "what did you want?"

"Would you believe me," he wants to know, "if I said only to hear your lovely voice to get me through the next seventeen minutes of my life before I see you again?"

"Not only would I not believe you," I say, trying to keep a straight face, "I'd kick you in the shin the next time I saw you. If you said that, I mean."

"Funny you should mention getting kicked in the shin," he begins.

I feel a story coming on, and let me just say now, I am SO not a fan of talking on the phone. Like, they should only be used for emergencies.

Like when your fiancée calls you to let you know that he's in trouble for double playing two of the most powerful and influential organizations of our time.

I mean, just as an example, of course.

"Whatever, Harry," I brush him off, "What do you want?"

He gives a sort of half-laugh and sounds a little embarrassed when he asks, "What was it you wanted me to pick up?"

My (still practically invisible) left eyebrow shoots up, "Are you serious?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be serious?" he teases, "Have I ever struck you as someone who isn't serious?"

I'm sort of in disbelief when I answer, "Well, because it was only _one thing_."

"One highly elusive thing," he states.

"It's eyeliner, scarhead," and yeah, that's probably a little mean and uncalled for, but I continue anyway, "Eyeliner is _not _elusive."

Instead of replying to the important parts of what I've just said, he instead scoffs, "Okay, Miss No-Eyebrows."

I roll my eyes, "Ooh, ouch. That hurt. Like, a lot, you know? I'm suffering."

I can hear the smile in his voice when he replies, "Well, that's all I wanted to know, sunshine. One eyeliner, coming right up."

I begin, "Hey, don't call me sun--"

But he's hung up on me.

The guy obviously has _no _manners.

Well, not many anyway.

I'm just about to return to my beloved TV when my phone rings again.

Figuring it must be Harry again, I answer it without consulting caller ID.

I greet him with, "I am not 'sunshine', you prat. Say it again and you'll be sorry when you wake up tomorrow morning. I mean, _if _you wake up."

"Pansy?" a female voice inquires.

"Mil?" I ask incredulously.

Because last I checked Millicent Bulstrode did NOT use telephones, no exceptions whatsoever. You contacted her by owl, floo, or not at all.

"Pansy Parkinson," Millie states in a scary way that really reminds me of my mum, "just where in Merlin's name have you been?"

"I, uh..." I begin, but she cuts me off.

"I have been worried sick about you. I mean, you can't even use magic to keep yourself safe any longer, but despite that you just up and disappear! What were you thinking? Where are you? Tell me and I'll come get you."

"Look, Mil--" I begin.

She cuts me off, "Pansy, I'm serious. Where are you?"

I mumble, "I'm safe, honest."

"You're lying," she states matter-of-factly, "A newly engaged woman does not randomly disappear during the middle of the day without telling her fiancée where she's going."

I'm getting sort of impatient with her, "Millie--"

"But, wait. That's it isn't it? Fear of commitment strikes again! Fuck, Pans, you need to get over it."

"Who even told you Draco and I were engaged?" I want to know.

She states, "That is so far away from the point here."

"The point being?"

"You're running away." she continues, "Again. From the only person who can provide you with what you need, keep you safe, and love you."

"You can _not_ be talking about Draco," I scoff.

She huffs, "He loves you the only way he knows how."

I question lightly, "What if that's not good enough, Mil?"

"So that _is _what this is about."

"Maybe."

I mean, it's partially true, right?

"It's not like you have a whole lot of options here, Pans," she reminds me.

I get angry, "It can't always come down to this! I mean, yeah, I can't perform magic anymore. Big fucking deal. Millions of people seem to do just fine on their own without it."

She's frustrated when she asks, "You're never going to understand are you?"

"What's there to understand?" I want to know, "One day I woke up and it was just gone. I mean, it's happened before to other wizards. Yeah, it's completely random and fucking unlucky, but there's nothing to be done about it. I waited for it to come back, and that's not going to happen. I've accepted it, you know? Rose above it and shit. Yet all you seem to want to do is remind me of it every time I get a spine and want to leave Draco."

She questions unkindly, "Do you really think that's what happened, that you just randomly lost your abilities?"

"I _know _that's what happened," I state and elaborate, "I went to bed one night and just woke up the next morning feeling oddly empty. I mean, Draco was by my side all night long; nothing out of the ordinary happened."

"You know what? Forget that story, Pans. That's _not _what happened. And look, I promised him I wouldn't ever tell you this, but you need to hear it to understand."

"Understand what?" And now I'm practically yelling, "I mean, what is your deal? Why do you care all of a sudden? Where were you three days ago?"

I hear her sigh and she continues as if I haven't said anything at all:

"Okay, so sixth year had just ended, right? Things were a fucking mess with Dumbledore dead, Hogwarts possibly closing forever, and Draco vanishing off into the night with Snape.

"I mean, Draco had _failed _the Dark Lord. And there are consequences to something like that, you know? I mean, serious ones. He killed Draco's mum and dad, as you know.

"But he didn't stop there, he wanted to take everything that was important to Draco away from him. And he went after you. Not to kill you, mind you, but to take away the most important thing you possessed: your magical ability.

"He figured the loss would just tear Draco apart, that he'd leave you and then be fully loyal to the him.

"But that's not what Draco did. He stayed by your side even though it eats him up on the inside every fucking single day."

And I'm entirely speechless.

But she's not done yet, she's still got the clincher, "If that's not love, then I don't know what it is."

My voice shakes as I say, "You're lying."

I feel like someone's just slapped me, I'm reeling as the room seemingly spins around and around. And it sort of feels like it'll never stop. Spinning, I mean.

Is it so wrong just to want some stability in my life?

Millie responds, "Look, Pans, believe what you want, but that's what happened. Now, are you going to tell me where you are or not?"

I can't find my voice to reply, so I simply flip my phone shut and then rip the battery out of its place on the back.

And for the second time today I break down in a fit of tears.

Fucking angst.

My life was good without it, you know?

I mean, being four years old rocked. Way more than being a twenty-something, that's for sure. Well, I guess the whole losing my abilities to perform magic might've had something to do with that. And doesn't that just all boil down to show me just what happens when you hang out with the "wrong crowd"? God, my life has become a bad cliché!

But... she has to be lying, right?

The whole thing was just a freaky accident. Entirely separate from anything to do with Draco, the Dark Lord, or any of that shit.

Because, like, if it's not... where does that leave me? I mean besides sitting on an uglybed that isn't mine in Boy-Wonder's flat, crying my eyes out all by myself?

Merlin, where is Potter when you need him?

* * *

**A/N**: Oh, angst. I'm sorry, people. I know we don't like angst. It just sort of happened. Like an accident, you know? Oopsies! I'll dig myself out of it, promise.

**To my reviewers**: I'm sorry I went all review-whore on you. But I thank you nonetheless for taking the time to do so anyway!

heyduderanch: Thanks!

harrison potter: Nope, no "Ginslut" ...lol.

Cybill: Thannnk youuu!

LaBelle Evans: Hugs! Yeah, Pansy is crazy... but we like her that way. :)

Reluctance: Thank you so much! I'm glad you don't think their relationship is developing too quickly or oddly! Dean shall make a reappearance sometime soon, I'm sure, though.

sugarbomb53086: Thank you, it means a lot to hear (erm, read) that!

EnlightenedKing: Thanks! I try! hehe... I will continue this story, though, because I just really enjoy writing it. :)

Abercrombie18: No tampon line, I did consider it though. That's what Ron was hinting towards before he hung up. Silly Ron. Thanks for reviewing!

**Review?**


	7. So Not 'The Morning After'

**Disclaimer**: There's no way if I were JKR I'd be updating this often. I mean, the woman has a life!

**Chapter 7**: So Not 'The Morning After'

* * *

When I (finally) get back from the drugstore, I make my way into the living room, finding Pansy sprawled out on the couch. And it might just be the light or maybe it's the contrast between her newly black hair and pale skin, but her eyes look puffier than they did before I left.

I triumphantly hold out the white plastic bag that holds my purchase, "Hey you, I've returned with gifts!"

"Swell, Potter," she says as she grabs the bag from me and sets it down on the floor next to the couch, "Thanks."

"I guess I really don't know if I got the right thing," I say as move a little closer toward the couch.

She keeps her eyes fixed on the TV, saying, "I'm sure it'll be fine"

I search for something to say, deciding my incident at the store will do nicely, "The craziest thing happened while I was there though..."

She deadpans, "Had a showdown with old Voldie-Poo?"

"Uh, no," and I can't ignore it anymore, asking, "Are you okay?"

"I'm super."

Her eyes still haven't met mine.

"Jeeze, it's the weirdest thing," I begin sarcastically, "but I somehow don't believe you."

"Your problem, not mine," she dismisses with a wave of her hand.

"Talk to me about it?"

"Your problem? I would if I could, but I have no idea what it exactly is. You'd do well just to go pay a psychiatrist to figure it out, you know?"

"Pans," I sigh, "c'mon."

"No, I'm serious," she states, finally looking at me.

"Yeah?" I ask gravely, "Well, so am I. Talk to me."

She sits up on the couch, tucking her legs beneath herself, pointedly looking at the now empty space beside her.

I guess that's her way of inviting me to sit down. Which I do. Even though it's _my _couch and I don't need an invite to sit on it anyway.

She situates herself so she's facing me, and I follow suit, knowing this isn't going to be the sort of conversation where it's appropriate to simply turn my head and listen.

"Harry, do you know what's wrong with me?"

And I don't know why I take the hey-I'm-humorous approach, but I do, "Besides the fact you seemingly have no eyebrows?"

She offhandedly replies, "Yeah, besides that."

But I still think I'm funny, "Well, I guess your hair _is _abnormally black."

She rolls her eyes, "You're such a dumb ass. Never mind."

Then I realize I'm not funny and have to make up for lost sincere-time, "No, seriously, Pans, what's up?"

She starts, "I--I just..."

I wait for her to continue.

She opts to begin another way, "You know how you were pestering me about the magic thing?"

I answer slowly, "Yeah..."

"You know how you called me this afternoon?"

And I think _Okay, so one and one here? Yeah, so not equaling two_.

"Yeah. Look, Pans... I don't understand what one has to do with the--"

She interrupts, "Just let me--"

And then we're both silent for a moment or so.

But I'll be damned if I say anything else, because she's basically just told me to shut up. I'll just give her time, you know?

I can sort of tell by her eyes that she really wants to say whatever it is she's trying to say. It's just that she's having some issues with the whole actually-saying-it part, though.

After a few moments she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

"I--never mind, it's not important."

And I really want to disagree with her, tell her, "_No, obviously it IS important._" But I know that won't get me anywhere. And I can't help but wonder at what could it possibly be. Another letter from Draco? Or is she still upset about the first one? I mean, I guess that'd be understandable to a degree, after all, it was only this morning she received it. But wasn't the whole hair-dying thing supposed to be some sort of catharsis from all of that? However, none of has anything to do with my calling her... or magic, for that matter.

But I ignore my thoughts, and simply opt for saying, "Okay."

She gives me a small smile, "Let's just hang out tonight, Potter. Okay?"

I bemusedly smile, "In contrast to what we've done every other night?"

"Exactly," she affirms.

"So what will this hanging out entail tonight?"

"Um," she ponders, "movies, popcorn, tons of other food, and girl talk!"

I cough, "Girl talk?"

"Yeah," she bounces a little on the couch, asking, "aren't you excited?"

"Wow," I widen my eyes, "way excited."

"And... if you're lucky," she raises her eyebrows, "I might schedule in an underwear-clad pillow fight."

"Shit," I say solemnly, "I'll hold my breath for that one."

"Please do, sweetie," she smiles pleasantly, "You'll look good in blue."

I frown, "Really? 'Cause I really never thought it was my color."

"Oh, believe me," she nods, "blue is totally you."

"You know," I say, dubiously, "I don't know if my turning blue really should be one of the events on our list tonight."

She rolls her eyes, and slouches back into the couch a bit, "Party pooper."

I shrug, "Pick a different activity and I'm yours."

She leans forward, "Swear?"

I nod, "Swear."

She tilts her head to the side slightly, asking, "Pinky swear?"

I slowly state, "Pinky. Swear."

"Promise?"

"Pans, I promise. What do you want? A ring?"

I realize too late, of course, what I've just said.

But she just smiles and says, "Nah, I'm good on rings. I believe you. About the promising, I mean."

In the end we don't end up doing the whole girl-talk thing anyway. Which was a relief because I really have no desire to talk about the things I know girls talk about when they're alone with each other.

There, however, is tons of food. We decide early on in the night that it is definitely a Chinese sort of night. We, of course, opt for a dozen or so extra fortune cookies, and have blast reading them aloud to one another:

o o o

I crack my first one open, discarding the actual cookie onto a paper plate for later consumption.

"Now is the time to make circles with mints, do not haste any longer."

I scrunch up my face and turn to Harry, who is wearing a similar sort of expression.

He shrugs, "I dunno, Pansy. I always was crap at Divination."

I laugh, "Do you think Trelawney wrote this?"

He shakes his head, "Nah, it has nothing to do with death or me..."

I smile, "Oh, that's right. Well, you've survived this far, haven't you?"

He rolls his eyes, "We'd best consult another cookie before I answer that one for you."

He cracks his cookie open and pulls out the slip of paper:

"It is time for you to apologize for your current hair cut and get a new one."

He looks up at me smiling, "Oh, Pans, I think this one belonged to you..."

I mock-frown at him and take a whack at his arm, "Whatever, Potter. You _know_ you deserve the world an apology for that hair of yours. I mean, just comb it every once in awhile!"

He rolls his eyes, "Jeeze, that's an excellent thought. Why didn't I think of that before?"

I squint at him, "Sarcasm doesn't suit you, you know."

He squints evenly back at me, stating, "I know. That's why I like it."

And I just shrug, selecting out another cookie.

And that's how we spend our night, eating stale cookies with truly weird fortunes in them, while watching a movie repeatedly on pay per view.

o o o

I really haven't been sleeping well at night. Ever since Pansy sort of moved in, I mean.

So when I find myself suddenly awake in the middle of the night, it isn't anything out of the ordinary.

I squint at my digital clock: 4:29 in the morning. I sigh, deciding to simply roll back over and wait to fall back asleep when I hear something.

Initially I think it's the TV, but after listening for a few moments, I realize it's Pansy talking. I can't make anything out, but it's definitely her.

I reach for my glasses, pushing them up the bridge of my nose as I climb out of bed and head for my bedroom door. I close the distance between my door and hers within a few seconds. I slowly open the door to her room, pausing to listen to what she is saying. It's absolutely nothing coherent. I move further into the room and see her thrashing around in the bed, mumbling to herself. I guess that she's having some sort of a bad dream. Maybe having Chinese wasn't the best idea after all.

o o o

I'm in Malfoy Manor, sitting at the elaborate dining table in the equally elaborate dining room. I stare out the window that faces the series of gardens. I notice the gardens seem to have long since fallen into disrepair. A moment later, Draco joins me at the table.

I glance down to my dinner plate and absently count the forks sitting just to the left. I never did see the point in having so much damn silverware for each place setting.

"The road is long, Snap," Draco says suddenly.

I look to him and find his gray eyes are fixed intently on mine.

All I can manage is, "What?"

"Prophecies don't mean anything, you know? Neither do expectations. Even those you have for yourself."

The room suddenly changes and I find myself back at Hogwarts. I'm holding my wand (a single strand of hair from a Centaur inside a willow casing), casting an offhand spell at a bottle of spilled ink. The ink instantly disappears off the scratched up tabletop. It won't be until later, I know, that I find the ink spot on the hem of my skirt.

And Draco's there again. Vying for my attention, since I've decided to ignore him this week. The boy never did take well to being ignored.

"Pansy," he whines, "I'm sorry about the whole thing with Daphne, okay?"

Oh, so that's why I'm not talking to him this week. I'd forgotten. Not like it was anything new, anyway.

I continue to ignore him.

"Name it and it's yours. Just talk to me, okay?"

He's just so used to getting his way. And me? Well, I'm altogether too used to being stubborn.

I know when I later remind him of this moment, he'll deny begging me to speak to him. Whatever, though. This is just how we are.

Everything shifts again and I find myself lying in our bed. My and Draco's bed, I mean. I slowly drift into consciousness, trying to pinpoint why I feel so ... off.

I frown a bit and move to Draco's side, snuggling up against him. He pushes me away slightly, but it's not a conscious thing with him, at least I don't think so.

"Draco?" I ask as I lightly brush my fingers over his forearm.

He mumbles something, eventually opening one eye to peer at me, closing it just after it focuses on me.

"Hold me?" I softly inquire.

I catch his lips turn up just the tiniest bit as his arm moves, allowing me a space to move into. Once I've situated myself, his arm comes around me.

And I try to fall back asleep. Try to tell myself that everything is fine. But I just feel this unignorable emptiness.

Within a second that scene is gone too. And the random mix of memories and altogether unique sequences continue on and on.

o o o

I've tried at least a half dozen things to wake her up. I've turned on the lights, I've yelled at her, I've splashed water in her face, I've set my cell phone alarm to go off while next to her ear, but she's still fast asleep, mumbling and moving around in the bed.

And I'm starting to get really worried. I mean, some may say, "_Oh, it's just a dream. Let her wake up on her own_," I don't feel the same way. I mean, I've had my share of dreams that I wish someone had simply just woken me up from. I'm not saying she's got some sort of link with an evil wizard that allows her access to his innermost thoughts, but better safe than sorry, right?

I've all but given up on waking her when I sit down on the edge of the bed.

She's stopped moving for the time being, but her frowning face tells me she's still dreaming. I slowly move my head towards hers, whispering in her ear, "Hey, Pans, wake up, hm? Pansy, c'mon. Pannnsy."

And just like that her eyes snap open and she practically knocks her head into mine as she bolts upright.

"Fuck," she gasps, breathing deeply, her hair now strewn haphazardly across her face.

I move my hand to push her hair behind her ear as I ask, "You okay?"

She jumps a little bit again, finally looking at me to ask, "What are you doing in my room?"

"You were dreaming," I begin lamely.

She takes a deep breath and exhales before saying, "I sure was."

I realize my hand is still resting on the back of her neck, drawing it away quickly, asking, "Do you want to talk about it?"

She shudders, "No. Definitely not."

I nod, "Okay then. I guess I'll, uh, just go--" and I move to get up off the bed.

"No! Don't!" she says quickly, grabbing hold of my hand.

"Don't?" I question, sitting back down on the bed.

She clears her throat and diverts her eyes from mine as she drops my hand. I notice she's still breathing heavily. And it's strange how vulnerable she seems in that moment. I know it must just be a trick of the lighting or something, but there it is. And let me tell you something, it pretty much scares the shit out of me. I mean, yeah, I witnessed her crying not even twenty four hours ago, but somehow that was different; she was just stressed out because she wasn't in control of everything around her, you know?

I decide not to ask for an explanation, instead just saying, "Okay. I'll stay."

She smiles gratefully (well, as grateful as she can ever look) at me as she slides back down in between the sheets.

I move around the bed and slip below the covers as well.

And WOW, is this ever awkward. Or maybe it's just me.

But, hell, it's practically five o'clock in the fucking morning and I'm tired, so I drift off within five minutes anyway.

o o o

I slowly drift awake, sleepily aware of my feeling unnaturally safe. And so warm, too. Not like stuffy warm, but like cozy warm, you know?

Though, I can't help but wonder _what-the-hell-is-up-with-my-pillow_? It's all squishy and sort of solid instead of being fluffy and ...fluffy? I briefly consider punching it, but think better of it, instead opening my eyes to investigate before resulting to physical violence against it.

And fuck, am I glad I opened my eyes before deciding to start pounding on anything.

Why, you might ask?

Oh, nothing really. Just that Potter so happens to be my pillow.

And for one horrifying moment I worry that I might have drooled all over his chest, lifting my head up off of his chest for an up-close inspection of his navy blue t-shirt, but I see it looks perfectly dry, so I guess I'm in the clear.

You know, except for the fact I'm _sleeping _with him. I mean, once you get past that, it's all sunshine and daisies and shit.

"_But wait_," I think as I lay my head back down on his chest, being entirely unable to do anything but that since his arm has a pretty firm grip around my torso, not allowing much room for shifting, "_Sleeping in the same bed with him does not mean the same thing that fucking him does. Phew!_"

Hey, give me a break. I'm a little bit irrational in the morning. Don't forget about the whole Bootes/fire/getting-Potter-pissed-at-me-for-making-fun-of-the-werewolf incident, because that's pretty decent proof I'm a bit insane in the morning. Or, you know, always. Whatever.

And so I just sort of lay there for awhile, making a conscious effort not to drool. But I guess it still must've been pretty early, because I fall back asleep without even wondering as to why the hell he is in my bed in the first place.

Which is probably way weirder than anything else that has happened all week.

o o o

I wake up thinking one thing, and one thing only: Shiiiit, does my arm _hurt_.

And so I try to move it, but there's, like, this dead weight holding it down.

And WHY does my chest feel wet? I move to shift my body a bit, but find that whatever is weighting down my arm is also anchored onto half of my body.

Wow, is this ever _so _not comfortable.

I squeeze my eyes shut a little tighter before opening them. I am greeted with the sight of my guest bedroom. Which confuses the hell out of me at first. But then I remember that Pansy is staying in this room and for some reason that makes my being in the room more acceptable than it was before.

Coherency in the morning isn't exactly my thing.

"_Okay_," I think, "_Harry, focus. If this is Pansy's room, then where is Pansy? But first! Find out why you can't move your body and why your t-shirt is damp._"

And who would've known that all of those answers could've been answered all at once?

_Pansy_ is sleeping on my chest, leg anchored over my right, and she's _drooling_.

I should definitely get a shit load of Hero Points for this one. I mean, honestly. Not that I'm keeping track or anything, though.

I know, however, there's no way I'll be able to extricate myself from her without waking her up. So I just lie there for awhile.

Merlin, this is all so cliché. Lucky thing all of this wasn't a result from doing anything sexual with her.

Wait? What am I saying? That I'm lucky that I got stuck with the cuddling end of the deal without the sex that usually takes place beforehand?

Maybe I _do _need to look into seeing a psychiatrist.

And suddenly she lifts her head up from my chest, lucidly asking, "Hey, you okay?"

I look into her concerned face, which is positioned about four inches away from mine, her black hair itching my face... and in that moment I know.

Know what, you might ask?

Oh, just that I'm falling for Pansy Parkinson, soon to be Pansy Parkinson-Malfoy.

Nothing weird or anything, you know.

Riiiight.

But I don't have a whole lot of time to dwell on it though because she's expecting an answer from me.

I clear my throat, willing myself to think about something else, and ask, "Yeah, why?"

Just like that. As if the situation we've found ourselves in is completely normal.

Well, I guess it could be normal for her. I wouldn't know.

I, on the other hand, usually avoided situations like these at all costs. I mean, unless they're on my terms.

But nothing dealing with Pansy is on my terms. _Nothing_.

She doesn't act as if she notices anything weird about any of this, though. Instead continuing on with the beginning of our conversation.

"Your heart is racing. It woke me up, you know."

I laugh shakily, "Well, if you hadn't been using me as a pillow you wouldn't have heard it at all."

She raises an eyebrow, "Well, if _you _hadn't had a death grip on me when I woke up earlier, I would've moved."

And I quickly realize she's right. My arm is still tightly wrapped around her. I quickly release my hold and she moves off of me, into a sitting position, propping herself up with a few pillows, still looking at me, waiting for an answer concerning my heart rate.

I quickly shift so I'm semi vertical too, licking my lips and wishing I had remembered to leave a glass of water for myself on the nightstand. And then I remember that I did. Only, you know, in my own room.

I glance at her before diverting my eyes, saying, "I guess I just got a little freaked out when I woke up, that's all."

I look back to her and notice she looks pretty amused.

"What?" I ask.

"Oh, nothing," she lightly replies.

And I can tell she's trying to look smug about something, but it's a hard look to pull off when your hair is have sort of smashed on one side of your head, yet insanely frizzy on the other side.

Well, also if the person you're trying to look down upon just so happens to be someone you were drooling on while sleeping not even ten minutes ago.

I frown at her, "Whatever. Do you know you drool in your sleep?"

And score! Potter: One. Parkinson: ...well, probably more than 5.

Maybe I won't keep track of the score after all.

Anyway, she looks positively horrified, which leads me to believe she does, in fact, know she drools.

And then I feel sort of bad for bringing it up at all. And feeling that way always translates into me wanting to do something to make the other person feel better.

So I lightly hit her shoulder and say, "Hey, don't even worry about it. I know someone who will be more than happy to make a stack of pancakes for us. How about it?"

* * *

abercrombie 18: Thanks for reviewing! I can't say I won't include it later... you never know. :)

Cybill: I know, I usually do not like Ron/Hermione either, but there's just something inside of me that makes me write it! So I try to make it less sickening than usual. hehe. Thanks for reviewing!

harrison potter: I tried to get lots of Harry/Pansy dialogue in this one for you. Not even one phone call from those "other" people. Thanks for reviewing!

harrypansy4ever!111: love to you too! Thanks for reviewing!

LaBelle Evans: hearts to Ron! Thanks so much for another lovely review!

EnlightenedKing: Yeah, it does sort of seem like Harry's whipped. I sort of approach that in a bit I've written for a later chapter. I don't know, he's just a nice guy, you know? And yeah, I'll try to get into all of that other stuff in good time. :) Thanks for reviewing!

Love Liberty Disco x: Thanks so much for reviewing! It means a lot to me!

princess-of-darness: Thanks for reviewing!

**Review**?

(_4/24/06_)


	8. But I’m Sure It’s Too Far

**Disclaimer**: I... Oh, forget it. I don't own Harry Potter!

**A/N**: Sorry about the obscenely long wait. There were finals, moving, and other substantial drama. It's all good now, though!

**Chapter 8**: But I'm Sure It's Too Far

* * *

Just like that and he's talking about pancakes.

It's sort of funny, in a completely worrisome sort of way, how just being in Harry's presence makes me sort of forget about my problems.

I mean, that's exactly what happened last night.

I was completely content to lie on his couch and mope over my truly messed up relationship with Draco, and worry about whether Millie had been telling the truth or not...

Then he came home.

And he actually tried to get me to talk about what was on my mind. Like, actually tried because he cares.

Well, at least because I think he cares, anyway.

And because of that (him caring), I didn't tell him what was going on. I mean, what could he possibly do? And it isn't like he doesn't have enough other things to worry about; I really don't need to add to it.

But none of my issues even crossed my mind after he stopped bugging me about them. Well, much anyway.

It's the weirdest thing, but he's just so easy to be around and joke with.

I _know_. I'm sure I just committed about a dozen pure-blooded rules by saying that. But who cares what any of them think anyway?

Well, any of them except Draco. And that's only about half of the time anyway.

So yeah, when I'm with Harry I'm okay. And I was yesterday too. Okay, I mean. Until I went to sleep.

And then I had that dream... And, like, I'm not even going to go into details because it was just ...horrible.

So instead I'll focus on Harry and how weird the guy is. I mean, remember the random mentioning of pancakes?

The guy wakes up with a questionably neurotic girl drooling on his chest and he just accepts it and wants to move on (to pancakes).

Wow. Seriously.

If only I could shift gears in my head like that.

I mean, I'm still totally not over that phone call from Millie yesterday, you know? And so I agonize over that, dreaming up What-Ifs in my head: What If I hadn't answered the phone, what if Millie just hadn't been such a bitch, what if I'd stayed with Draco?

And I'll tell you what, having those sorts of things rolling around in my head does not promote an exactly restful night's sleep... well, at least not until Harry stayed with me.

WHICH, is something else I'm going to blame Draco for... you know, getting me all used to sharing a bed. -- Oh god, what if he's ruined me for life? I mean, yeah, I'm engaged to him and he'll pretty much be stuck with me forever... but what if I decide that after all of this we can't be together? AGH, it's another attack of the what-ifs! -- But of course I'd end up doing so with someone who is so entirely good-hearted he can't even torture me with the fact I drooled all over him.

...Okay, so maybe Potter doesn't exactly make me forget all of my problems. But he helps.

And while I'm pondering all of this, he must've left because soon I hear a slight 'pop' coming from the kitchen, a pop I know only comes from apparation. Then there he is holding a plate full of the afore promised pancakes.

I blink at him, "You apparated?"

He gives me a small smile, "For pancakes like these, you gotta apparate."

I give him a skeptical look, "I don't want to know where these came from, do I?"

He laughs, "Probably not, but they're gonna be the best pancakes you've ever had. Swear."

I roll my eyes, "Well, if you _swear_."

And so we move to the living room, turning on the morning cartoons. After all, who can be bothered to watch the news anyway? Especially with pancakes like these.

So that's what I do, watching TV, eating my pancakes and definitely not thinking about how they more than likely came from the kitchen of a Weasley.

And after we've finished eating, Harry takes my plate from me and heads into the kitchen. I, of course, stay in front of the TV and simply wait for him to return.

When he finally does he's all dressed for work, though I momentarily wonder if he even _bothers _to run a comb through that hair of his. If I had to bet, I'd say no.

But I don't say any of that to him. Because what kind of crazy person sits around thinking about other people's hair?

I realize I've sort of been staring at him when he waves his hand slightly in front of my eyes.

I look at him expectantly.

"Well, I'm gonna head off to work. So, you, uh, keep out of trouble."

I, rather maturely, stick my tongue out at him.

He starts toward the door, stopping to turn slightly, reminding me, "And don't open the door to any strangers."

I give him a dubious look before replying, "Yes, mum."

He shrugs, "I'm just saying--"

I cut him off, "Saying that you're going to be late. Scoot!"

He gives me a weird look, reminding me, "Hey, I'm the boss. I can show up whenever I want."

I deflate slightly. Because he's right. Oh, well.

He laughs, "I'll see you later, Pans."

"Bye, Pot-Pot," I call.

Three hours later I'm sitting up against the couch thinking "_You know, this sort of existence isn't too horrible_."

I mean, yeah, all I get for intellectual conversation is Potter, but, like, I can deal. 'Cause you can't forget the TV... and the seemingly never ending stash of take-out menus.

Modern society (and being on the run from the "law") might just turn me into a hermit yet.

Well, until I need something that can't be delivered to the front door; like a haircut or something.

Okay, now, what I'm about to say? Yeah, don't think less of me as a person for it. I'm weak, you know?

Ready?

Okay.

I've started watching daytime television. **In defense **I must explain about how it sorta gets lonely in the flat without Harry around. And his TV screen's so big, and with the surround sound, it's sort of just like I have guests over or something. Well, guests who have highly dramatic and just slightly unbelievable lives.

I mean, really. I've only been watching for a few days and already the same blonde girl already had a baby, lost her memory, and starred in a fashion show. -- If that's real life, then I'm severely missing out. For real.

And so here I am, just minding my own business watching my stories when I hear what's become the dreaded key-in-the-lock sound.

And weirdly enough, the first thing I think of is, "Shit, Potter told me not to let strangers in!"

But then I realize what a stupid train of thought that is and go right into panic mode, quickly grabbing the remote and turning the TV off.

For a moment I wonder if I'd fit underneath the couch. But before I can consider it for much longer, I hear an almost-familiar male voice call out, "Pansy?"

I stay frozen for a moment, trying to figure out if it's Dean or some other possibly deranged Order member.

He tries again, "Parkinson? -It's Ron."

"...and Hermione," a female voice adds irritably.

Oh, well. . . okay, I guess?

I hear Ron mutter, "Fuck! Be my shadow, why don't you?"

To which Hermione evenly replies, "Honestly, Ron. How could you've already forgotten I was two steps behind you?"

He huffs, "Shit, maybe because I told -- I mean, _asked _you to stay outside in the car."

"And when," she wants to know, " is the last time I did something just because you wanted me to?"

He sounds pretty disgusted (and disgruntled) when he answers, "Fuck, probably never."

She, on the other hand, sounds pretty pleased with herself, "Right. So here we are."

He deadpans, "Super."

Oh, even I know he should know he won't get away with that.

And he doesn't. Get away with it, I mean.

"Don't take that tone," she warns.

He takes the incredulous approach, "What _tone_?"

"You know what I mean."

Ooh, she doesn't sound amused. Weasley is so in over his head.

"No, Hermione, if I did, I wouldn't be asking."

She raises her voice a bit, "THAT tone, Ronald."

I hear him sigh, "Can we just forget it?"

She states simply, "No. But we can put it off until later."

He replies sarcastically, "How gracious..."

Which she seemingly decides to ignore, "I know. You can repay me later."

I hear the grin in his voice as he questions, "...by participating in acts that will give my mother the grandchildren she so desperately wants from us?"

Now it's her turn to deadpan, "Ha. That's rich."

"I had to give it a shot."

She uses a falsely bright voice while saying, "Sure you did. And look! You did! Moving on!"

Wow, Granger _is _a prude.

"Fine, fine," he concedes.

And Weasley's a pushover. They're perfect for each other.

There's a moment or so of silence before:

"Pansy? Where are you at?"

Damn, they've remembered me after all.

I feebly call out, "Living room."

Ron's the first to pop his head in the doorway, asking, "Hey, where's Harry?"

I give him a questioning look before responding, "Um, at work?"

See? I knew the guy had nothing better to do during the day. I so don't feel badly about asking him to pick me up the hair dye.

Then Granger sort of shoves past him into the room. He glares at her, but she ignores him.

She gives me a tight smile, asking, "So, how are you?"

I raise a (colored!) eyebrow at her, "Fabulous, and you?"

She shrugs and smiles a bit more sincerely, "Same old, same old."

I really have no idea how to respond to her, so I opt for, "Fair enough."

Ron's watching the two of us, looking far more entertained than he should be. If he were Harry he'd say something to make this less awkward. Harry's special like that.

I mean, don't get me wrong, he's still ...you know, all hero-esque, which, in my book is a sort of a turnoff, but that doesn't mean he's not a decent guy.

I guess I'll have to dig myself out of this one on my own, though.

I make a conscious effort to lower my eyebrow before asking, "So, you were here to see Harry?"

Granger looks like she's considering the best way to answer my question, but before she can come up with something, Ron blurts, "Nah, we wanted to talk to you. Alone, you know?"

I can feel my eyes widen as I think "_Oh, fuck_."

Granger turns towards him, hands on her hips, chastising, "Honestly, Ronald, you are so tactless. _You're _the one that should be out sitting in the car."

"Well, no one's in the car, though, are they? Funny how that happens."

"Yeah, downright hilarious," she counters, "I don't know what ever gave you the idea you could tell me what to do in the first place."

"I already told you, Hermione," he sighs, as if super tired, "I didn't TELL you to stay in the car, I asked. Nicely, even."

"Oh, yes," she says, mocking him, "'Look, Herms. It'd be super if you could stay in the car. So, you know, you don't go in and fuck this thing up. Yeah, that'd be great.'"

"Exactly," he says, pleased, "Nowhere did I _tell _you to stay outside."

"You know?" she asks, "I don't like you very much right now."

And at this moment, I'm sort of waiting for them just to start making out already. Sexual tension, you know? Not that I'd really want to witness such an atrocity between the two of them, but it'd be better for everyone in the end. There are always sacrifices for mankind. Potter would understand this, I'm sure.

But I do have to admit, watching the exchange between these two so totally has daytime TV beat. By a long shot, even. I even feel the need to go make a bag of popcorn. I mean, this stuff is good.

Maybe I just need to get out more.

Or, you know, at all.

o o o

I unlock the door and trudge into my flat. Today at work, in short, was not good. And now to top it all off, I have to break the news to Pansy.

I find her, of course in the living room.

"Parkinson?" I ask quietly.

She distractedly acknowledges my presence, "Erh, Harry..."

Okay, so she's not going to make this any easier, "Look, I need to talk to you."

"But, I'm watching something," she whines pathetically.

"When," I want to know, "aren't you watching something? That does not qualify you as being busy."

"But I _am _busy," she insists.

"Watching TV," I affirm. Only I guess it's more of a question.

"You got it, babe," she smiles, finally looking at me, "Now, be a dear and bring me a glass of water?"

"Pans--" I sigh.

"Ooh, scratch that," she raises her eyebrows, "A diet Coke. Thanks."

"You do know that this is _my _place of residence? That _I _am the one paying to live here?"

She smiles again, "And hence, you will know exactly where the diet Coke is."

"What would you say if I told you I didn't have any? Coke, that is."

And yeah, I'm just messing with her. Mostly because I'm trying to avoid telling her what I know I'll eventually have to tell her.

She shakes her head, "I'd say you better go buy some. At least if you know what's good for you."

I sigh, stating, "I think I used to know. What's good for me, that is. But every day I spend with you it becomes just that much harder to remember."

"That's 'cause you've got me to tell you," she states matter-of-factly.

And then a thought dawns on me, "You know, if we were dating, my mates would say I was whipped."

"Good thing we're not then," she says seriously, "I mean, this way you're still a pushover, but no one knows about it. Well, except me." She pauses to grin at me, continuing, "And I can't tell anyone since I'm in hiding. ...Which, you know, isn't as much of a picnic as it might sound. I mean, yeah, I fucking LOVE your television, but, Potter, I'm soooo bored."

"Wow," I say slowly. "Whine much?"

She sits straight up and gets this hopeful look in her eyes, asking, "Play a board game with me?"

"A _board _game?" I really cannot believe her sometimes.

"Please?"

"What makes you think I even _have _board games?"

"You don't have board games?" she asks in a disbelieving monotone voice.

"No," I shake my head, "I never got into them."

"What kind of childhood did you have?"

I give a half laugh, "Believe me, you don't want to know."

"So, erm..." she begins, looking slightly uncomfortable, "was there something you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Oh," I say, cocking my head just to the left, "so now you want to talk?"

"Yeah!" she nods, "Don't you know, baby, I just live to talk to you when you come home from work?"

I roll my eyes.

"I mean, I want to hear all about your day! And then, I'll make you dinner; during which you'll ask about the kids and _my _day. And after that we'll have hot and dirty sex on the kitchen counter."

"Okay," I resign, "so you don't really want to talk."

"Quick on the uptake. And, no."

"Well, too bad." Because we have to. Talk I mean.

She furrows her eyebrows, asking, "Where's my diet Coke?"

And, wow, talk about changing the subject, "What? Pansy, come on. I need to talk to you."

She, of course, ignores me.

And I know it's time to pull out the big guns.

So I threaten her, "Don't make me pull the plug on the TV. I'll do it. You _know _I'll do it.

"Oh my god," she looks at me, completely horrified, barely whispering, "you wouldn't."

"I would," I say in a dangerous sort of voice.

Wide eyed, she whispers, getting slightly louder with every word, "You could blow the screen out by doing that. You could fucking kill your TV, Potter."

"I'll do it."

"Okay," she pouts, "Fine. Let's talk. But, I'll have you know, I'm only doing this for the sake of the TV."

I shake my head, "Whatever."

She glares at me, saying, "You're sick. You know that, right?"

I give her a small smile, "I'm going to ignore that. Now, seriously, we caught Malfoy."

"You--" she coughs, as if choking, "--you what?"

I grimace slightly at her reaction, explaining, "He went back to the Manor for some reason late last night. A few Order members have been camped out there all week waiting for him to show up."

And for a few moments neither of us say anything. I mean, I've delivered the message. It's up to her to do what she will with it. Whether that'll result in her leaving to find him or retreating into my bathroom to chop all her hair off, I have no idea.

Finally, she starts speaking, a bit hysterically, "But, that's so _stupid_. He should've known they would be there. It isn't like him to get caught."

"I--I think he was looking for you," I say slowly.

She laughs, "Me? Oh, that's rich. There is no way in hell he was looking for me."

"Think about it, you've been 'missing' for over four days."

And then she sort of looks like something has just dawned on her, "Fuck!"

My eyes widen a bit, and I question, "What?"

And she's rising to her feet, yelling, "Fuck you, Harry Potter!"

"Wha--I don't--"

I mean, _wow_. I am so confused. I expected a reaction. But I didn't expect any of this to be my fault.

She uses a mimicking tone, "_Oh, Pansy, they're going to use you as bait to catch Draco. You have to hide... at my flat! That way I'll know what you're up to all of the time!_"

"That is _not _how it was at all," I begin, a bit angry, "You said you didn't--"

"Oh, yeah?" she interrupts me, "Shit! I am so stupid. So, _so_ stupid."

And now she's sort of pacing back and forth across the carpeted living room floor.

"You're not stupid," I tell her.

"He told me!" she says, starting towards me, "Told me not to trust anyone. Fuck, I forgot you counted as a someone."

"Pans--" I say, grabbing hold of her shoulders. The girl _has _to stop moving around so much, it's driving me insane.

She turns her head away from me, dark hair shielding her face from my view, asking, "Can you just leave?"

I loosen my grip slightly, stating, "No."

When she speaks again her voice is shaky, "Please leave? I'm going to cry in about, like, seven seconds, and I'd appreciate some privacy."

"I'm not leaving."

She moves her head, watering eyes catching mine, "For fuck's sake. Why not?"

"Because..." And I have never been very good with words, and that's why I do what I do next.

Which is kiss Pansy Parkinson; but that isn't to say it was a one sided kiss.

But that's almost neither here nor there since the kiss doesn't last longer than a few seconds, Pansy pushing me away, barely audibly asking, "What the fuck was that?"

And I'm not sure if her voice is lowered because she's about to commit murder and doesn't want to waste her voice screaming just yet, or if it's because she's actually one of those girls who get all shocked when a guy kisses her. Knowing her, it's neither; or better yet, both.

Because if it's both she can claim self-defense when she goes on trial for my murder.

And try as I might, I can't get my voice to work. Which pisses me off because a guy should have control over his own voice at times like these. I mean, it's the manly way, isn't it?

After a few moments of staring at her staring at me (vicious cycle, you see), I sit down carefully on the couch and finally manage to clear my throat and repeat myself, "You're not stupid."

She blinks just once, sitting down beside me, stating, "We are in so much trouble."

I furrow my brow; it's not the response I had been expecting. Well, not that I had been expecting anything in particular, just something that wasn't completely random. I should've known better anyhow.

"Trouble?" I ask, turning toward her.

But before I have any more time to wonder just what she's on about, her lips crash into mine.

Later I might've sworn the world had stopped in that very moment if it hadn't been for the TV's flashing screen and changing noises reminding me that, in fact, it had continued to move, not caring much for the happenings between two individuals on this random Thursday.

Well, all that and the cell phone in my pocket going off about two minutes later.

I mutter under my breath, "Fuck."

"Why," she asks, pulling slightly away, "is your pocket vibrating?"

"Cell phone," I explain quickly, moving my head forward to catch her lips again, "Ignore it."

She shifts uncomfortably, "It's _vibrating_. Who can ignore that?"

"Me," I murmur against her lips, "And you too. Concentrate."

She turns her head to the side, softly asking, "Answer it. Please?"

I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, groaning, "Ungh..."

To the bastard on the other end of the line, I say, "This had better be damn good."

To which the bastard replies, "Harry, we lost Malfoy."

And I've just got to wonder _Why me_? Seriously, I know there about a half-million other situations where it'd probably be a lot more justified to ask this, but at this moment I just have to wonder: why me?

"Shit, Dean, what?"

"I don't know how it happened. He was here one second and the next..."

Exasperated, I say, "Well, you've got to go find him!"

"I know."

"Why are you even calling me about this?"

"I... well, I guess I don't really know."

"Look, I'll talk to you tomorrow."

And then I snap my phone shut, taking time to turn it off. That'll stop them from getting a hold of me.

I can feel her breathing heavily next to me and I sort of expect her to be crying when I look at her. But she isn't. Crying, I mean.

Which is probably for the best, because no guy wants to have to deal with a girl who ends up crying when he kisses her. Well, much anyway.

She looks at me, the tears from earlier are still lingering in the corners of her eyes, "He's gone, isn't he?"

I nod slowly.

She pushes herself up off of the couch, standing with her back to me for a few moments, finally turning around, saying, "I'm sorry, Harry. I shouldn't have--"

I cut her off, "No, Pans--"

She shakes her head, "It won't happen again. I _am_ sorry."

* * *

**A/N**: Okay, next chapter we'll get into: a) what Ron and Hermione had to say to Pansy; b) what Pansy's thinking; c) what Harry's thinking; annnnnd loads more!

**To my reviewers**!

harrison potter: I'm glad you like the dialogues, I threw a few in this one too. Oh, and I _am_ sorry about the angst. You know, again. :)

abercrombie18: annnd you made my day by reviewing! yay!

greenlee: thanks for the interest and taking the time to review!

Hamster: yeah, I like the cuddly scene, too!

Delrious: thanks for reviewing!

EnlightenedKing: thanks so much... the hugging bit is one of my favorite parts thus far:)

blueeyedchibi: thanks for the nice review! I'm glad you like the story! I've just recently gotten into Harry/Pansy too... it's super addictive! yay!

**Review?**

(5/19/06)


	9. Always Seem To End Up Stuck

**Disclaimer**: So, like, one rainy day in the Midwest at the end of the month of May, a bored twenty-something was sitting in her new apartment on her even newer bed when JKR knocked at the door leading to the hallway. Which was totally weird, 'cause, hello, it's supposed to be a secure building. But, like, I guess JKR has her ways. And when the twenty-something answered the door, wearing only her pajamas, JKR most definitely did not give away her rights to Harry Potter. ...Long story short? I don't own Harry Potter.

**Chapter Nine**: Always Seem To End Up Stuck

* * *

And there I am, shaking my head saying, "It won't happen again. I _am_ sorry."

But he's just all like, "We need to talk about this."

And, wow, do I ever NOT want to talk about it. So I play dumb, asking, "You mean about Draco?"

"No," he sighs, "what just happened."

And I get a little angry because it's the only thing I can trust myself to do, "Fuck, Potter, you're such a girl. There's nothing to talk about."

"Pansy--"

I shake my head again, "Weasley and Granger stopped by this afternoon. They, along with the rest of the world, still have a set of keys and let themselves in."

And he actually takes my change-of-subject bait, "They were looking for me?"

So I persist with the new conversation. I'm gonna hold onto it like a fucking life preserver. Who knows, maybe that's exactly what it'll end up being, "No. Me. They wanted to talk to me alone."

"About...?"

I shrug, "They just want what everyone else wants."

"Answers," he states knowingly.

"Yeah."

And he sort of looks like he wants to start talking about whatever the hell it was that just happened between us, so I continue on, "What's the deal with the two of them anyway? I mean, by the time they left I just wanted to shout 'just fuck each other already!'"

He smiles slightly, thinking about his friends, "Yeah, you get used to feeling that way after awhile. Around them, I mean."

"Have they _always _been like that?" And this time I'm asking because I genuinely want to know.

"Well," he ponders, "only when they're on speaking terms with each other. Which isn't as often as you might think."

"Your friends are weird." I state matter-of-factly.

"I know," he shrugs, "None of the normal ones wanted me around."

And I can feel the muscles in my body loosen a bit. Normal conversation is good. So I smile, replying, "Yeah, I can see how that'd happen."

He raises an eyebrow playfully, "Oh, do you?"

"Sure do. I mean, just look at your hair," I say, pointing to the mop sitting on his skull.

And his hand goes to his head, in a lazy attempt to smooth it down a bit.

And damn it all to hell if he isn't just completely adorable.

I know what happened a few moments ago was completely my fault. I'm pushy like that, you know? And there's just no way I'm going to let him tell me otherwise. At least I know I have to be a bit more careful about my actions around him now. I mean, I _cannot _fall for Harry Potter.

Well, obviously, I could. But I really, _really _shouldn't. And so I won't.

Yes, just like that. I have a very high amount of will power.

And, yes, I sincerely believe that.

Once he's decided his hair is fine he returns his full attention to me. His bright green eyes searching my face for a trace of something, I don't know what, though. Either way it's a little unnerving.

And so I decide, right in that very moment, to come up with a mantra. I mean, having a mantra is, like, totally step one on the road to success. Or, you know, something. Anyway, my mantra goes something like this, "No, Pansy! No!" ...I know, it leave a lot to be desired, _but_ my mind doesn't function at its best when I'm close proximity to him anymore. Especially now that I've kissed him.

Fuck, did you _know _Harry Potter is an amazing kisser? 'Cause, like, he totally is. And I don't even have anyone to talk to about it or him, for that matter. Which might end up being for the best in the end, but it might lead me to my ultimate downfall. A downfall into some serious lusting after him.

Wait. No. I can't do this. I mean, no. Just no.

This isn't happening. I'm not going to let it.

Easy as that, don't you know? It's all an issue of mind over matter. And, baby, I'm so much bigger than all of this. I'm gonna fucking _rise above _it.

Okay, good. I'll be fine. I'm totally set.

Breathe in and out, Pans. And for the love of Merlin, just hang in there.

Woo! Self pep talks are good. All right.

o o o

And she won't let me talk about it.

I mean, I really tried. But she just kept changing the subject on me.

Okay, maybe I didn't try _super _hard. Because I know I won't want the answer I'll probably get.

And now she's just standing there in front of me with this resolute expression etched on her face. A look that definitely says, "Hey, I've made up my mind. You're not changing it. And, you know, I'm not above involving a can of pepper spray if you don't leave it alone."

But, wow. I can't let this go by.

I seriously can't.

And you know what?

I won't, either.

I mean, I'll let her _think _she's gotten her way for awhile. Maybe give her some time to think things over; adjust to the potential situation.

She's gotta come around eventually, doesn't she?

So that's the game plan. Things can go back to the way they were before. I'll just wait for a better time. I rock at waiting, after all.

o o o

And apparently my approach to this whole developing mess is working quite nicely.

Have I mentioned how obscenely glad I am that we were both able to be so _adult_ about the kiss and just move on? Yeah, it's only been a little over an hour ago since it all happened, but still.

Like, I feel like I've reached a new plateau in life. Or some shit like that.

And it just feel so good to be able to hang out with Potter knowing we at least got the awkward part of our relationship out of the way. I mean, those awkwardness is _rough_. Now life can be all smooth sailing and junk. I mean, apart from the whole Draco, Millie, and freaky Order skulking around out in the world, obviously up to no good.

So I'm lying on the bed in my room, letting my head hang off the foot of the bed, trying to get my neck to crack when he knocks softly at my door.

And since my vocal cords are all stretched out, when I go to say, "Come in" it comes all out all weird and throaty.

To which Potter responds by practically busting down the door, eager to figure out who the hell else is in my room.

His eyes dart around my spacious living quarters before finally resting on me. I, of course, am staring at him, a little freaked out by the display he just put on. And I'm also a little amused by seeing him as he would look if he could walk on the ceiling. No lie. Gravity can be such a spoilsport.

Annnnyway, he's all like, "Shit, Pans, what's up with your voice?"

To which I reply (in the same freaky voice), "Nothing's up with it. Does it sound weird?"

And I swear to god his left eye twitches just the tiniest bit.

And I roll onto my side before I start laughing at him.

He, however, just stands there in the doorway, looking at me like I'm completely insane.

I continue to laugh until I realize he's holding the sacred takeout menus in his left hand.

The laughing completely ceases then, 'cause, like, hello, it's feeing time, baby! That must be why he came looking for me! Yay!

He knows he has my attention now and he simply walks out of my room, knowing also that I'll follow him wherever he may lead as long as he's footing the dining bill. He's such a prince.

He wanders into the living room and lets himself fall onto the couch and I join him, grabbing for a chunk of the menus.

And just to make conversation (I swear!), I ask, "Why don't you ever cook?"

But apparently conversation is not what he's looking for, instead answering me with, "Why do you think I can be bothered?"

But I will not be deterred so easily, "Why do you always answer my questions with another question?"

Apparently he won't be deterred either, though, asking, "Why do you think?"

I roll my eyes, letting him win this round, "Just answer the question, Pot-Pot."

He, apparently doesn't know he's won, because he's still playing our game, asking, "Which one?"

So I think, _Okay, Scarhead, game fucking on_, "See? You're doing it again! You're infuriating!"

But I don't really mean it, you know?

He finally backs down, "Oh, okay, I'll stop."

I smile at him, scanning the Thai takeout menu, "Thank you."

"No problem," he says gallantly, using his index finger to poke me in the shoulder, "See, Pans? Chivalry isn't dead!"

I swat at him, scoffing, "Ha. Whatever, schizo. I think that scar on your forehead did some frontal lobe damage, if you know what I mean."

He keeps his hands to himself when he starts to speak again, "Well, 'ha' to you, I've _had _the tests done, baby, and I am one hundred percent normal."

"Oh, well, that's the problem, then, isn't it? You're too normal. C'mon, Boy-Wonder, you're supposed to be special! All savior of the human race and shit!"

He rolls his eyes at me as I continue, "I mean, at least have the sense to lie to people. They need a hero! You need to be all like, 'I can be your hero, baby!' I mean, yeah, it's cliché and a bit overdone all-in-all, but that's what people want! What they need! And you're denying them the inalienable right to have that in their life!"

He stares at me a bit before managing to ask, "Wow, preach much?"

"I did always have a knack for public speaking," I tell him modestly.

To which he has no reply to, other than a dubious look while he snatches the takeout menus from my hands, giving one of the Chinese ones some serious attention.

I, however, have temporarily forgotten about food, "What? It's true. I mean, just because I never bothered to talk to _your _public doesn't mean anything."

And apparently he doesn't like where this particular conversation is going, because the next thing he says is, "Hey, didn't you have a question for me?"

"Oh, what?" And I have to stop to think, 'cause I don't remember, "Uhm... did I?"

"Yeah," he nods. "Ask me again. I'll answer."

"You," I say, pointing at him, "are just trying to get me to shut up. I see through your plan, Mr. Chivalric."

He ignores me, talking to himself, apparently, because I know I'm certainly not listening, "What was it? Something about not cooking?"

I, however, have found something else to talk about, "Chivalry is so dead. Like, totally frozen up in the permafrost up at the North Pole or something."

"What would you _like_ me to cook?"

"I mean, there's gotta be a reason you don't see knights riding around anymore. They all probably, like, migrated north. It makes sense, right?"

"There are very few things I can actually make..."

"Fuck, they probably all went fruity due to all the pining they did after those prudish women."

"I can boil eggs for egg salad... maybe boil noodles, but they always end up either too hard or too soggy."

"And just like that!" I snap my fingers, "That's all it would take to kill out a certain race of people."

"Let's see... what else? I can make toast. That's always a crowd pleaser."

"I mean, have some foresight, men! They should've _known _that would happen."

"I think I have some jam somewhere in my fridge. Jam and toast? That wouldn't be bad."

"Maybe they wanted it that way, though. They were just like, 'Shit, guys, if we continue this way, we're going to be sexually frustrated for generations.'"

"Cereal! Cereal is good. Personally, I favor that crispy rice stuff, with a nice amount of sugar on it. Though, I'm not sure I've got any milk."

"I mean, they must've just been, 'Let's just do the noble thing and end this whole thing ourselves. And, oh my, aren't you looking dashing today?'"

"And so, that's why I order out... or, in, I guess."

"Maybe it's okay chivalry is dead, after all."

We both look at each other for a few seconds, each waiting for the other to continue whatever spiel we had going.

Then I blink. And then he blinks.

I clear my throat, "So, maybe we should just go out."

He sputters, "What?"

Merlin, do I _really _have to clarify this? "To _eat_, you spaz."

"No, I know," he shakes his head, "But... wow! Foreign concept!"

"We could do it, you know," I begin slowly, pretending I haven't been thinking about it for almost an entire day, "No one's looking for a raven-haired Pansy."

"Raven-haired, hm? What is this? Some cheesy novel? Did my life become a cheesy novel without my knowledge or approval?"

"Don't be stupid," I roll my eyes, "Of course it has. Now, tell me that I'm right."

"Well, you probably are right. But..."

"But what?"

"Wouldn't you rather be safe than sorry?"

I roll my eyes again, "I don't _do_ 'sorry'."

He raises his right eyebrow, "Lucky you."

"_Slytherin _me," I correct him.

"How... past-involved of you."

"What?" I ask, "You know you think it every time you look at me."

He shakes his head, stating, "You wouldn't have the first clue about what I think when I see you."

I frown, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Never mind."

And, wow. Does he _really_ think he'll get away with that? "Oh, no, Potter. No way. Tell me."

"No," is his eloquent reply.

"Why not?" I want to know, "Do you really want to ruin the fun little banter we've got going between us?"

He shrugs, an insolent tone has replaced his normal voice, "Maybe."

"_Maybe_?" I repeat incredulously.

"Yeah," he says, straightening up a bit, "that's what I said."

I sigh, leaning my elbows on my knees and propping my head on my hands, "C'mon, tell me. Do it for chivalry?"

"Not that again," he groans, letting his head hit the back of the couch.

I smile, "One track mind all the way, baby."

"Okay, fine," he says, 'You're right. We're forever stuck in past, destined to play out roles we took a decade ago."

"You know," I inform him, "I can tell by your sarcasm that's anything but what you truly believe."

"You're a smart girl," he says in offhanded tone.

"So, what do you think. About me, I mean?"

He sighs, "It's stupid."

And I'm really trying to keep the mood light here, 'cause we've just gotten back to this state of semi-normalcy. So I laugh, "You think I'm stupid, Potter?"

He looks into my eyes, saying, "I think you're anything _but _stupid."

"Aw, how sweet," I tease.

But it's as if he doesn't hear me, continuing, "I mean, I don't know how it happened. By any logical reasoning, it never should've. But you've somehow suddenly become this representation of everything I don't have."

"Oh, beauty, brains, and wit?"

"No," he says seriously, "just you."

And I find myself blurting out a string of things before thinking at all, I mean, it's what I've been telling myself every single time I even _think _about Potter since the kiss, "Well, of course you don't 'have' me. I'm engaged. And, like, I know that he's on the run from the law and shit, but... it's still there." I waggle my ring finger at him and the diamond catches the light, sparkling.

"I'm serious, Pansy."

And I realize he is. Serious, I mean. Could it be the kiss wasn't just me pushing myself on him?

Oh, _fuck_.

He continues, "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything," and he turns to leave.

"Harry--" I call after him.

He turns around, stopping dead in his tracks, waiting for me to say something -- anything.

"I--I'm sorry. I didn't realize... I thought it was just me."

"No, I know," he says quickly, before he takes in what I've just said, a hopeful look crossing his practically flawless features. He questions, "Just you what?"

"I thought..." I trail off. What _did_ I think? I sigh, "I don't know, I'm sorry."

He gives me a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes, saying, "Don't worry, it's not anything you did, per se. It's just me."

And I think, "_Yeah, except go and kiss you the other night_." But I don't say anything. There really doesn't seem to be much of a point.

And I don't want to ask because it's just sooo cliché, "We're still friends, right?" I can't help but wince as I say it because it's just so pathetic.

And I'm just hoping so hard that he'll be stereotypically nice about it. I mean, if there ever was a time where I needed him just to do what he should do, this is it.

But he doesn't, instead opting to ask, "Pans, when were we ever friends?"

And that hurts. A lot. Mostly because it's true, probably. But we were growing to be friends, weren't we?

He shrugs and apologizes again (I wish he'd stop, though), "I'm sorry. Yeah, we're still friends. Just forget I said anything, okay?"

And even though that's the furthest thing from what I'd like to do, I'm not really left with any other options.

So we sit there for a few moments before he hands me his original half of the menus, which I take, but somehow I don't feel very hungry anymore.

We end up ordering pizza. I'm not kidding. We don't even get any toppings. Just cheese.

And it's the worst pizza I've ever had. But somehow I think the pizza is probably just fine. It's just everything else that's wrong.

I mean, is it so wrong of me to depend on Harry for being the one stable thing in my life? Even despite the fact he's relatively new to my life?

Well, I guess it apparently is. And after he eats just one piece of the pizza, he disappears into his bedroom, mumbling something about "sleep" and having a "big day tomorrow." How lame is that, I ask you?

But I guess not everyone can be as witty and well-spoken as some people. Like me. You know, if you were looking for an example.

Whatever. So, like, there I am sitting all alone in the living room. Which, you know, isn't exactly a new occurrence in my 'new' life. It's just that I sorta got used to having him around in the evenings to complain about watching the Sci-Fi channel every night. And I'll tell you what, watching the Sci-Fi channel when there's no one there to protest doing so makes it lose a lot of the appeal it had in the first place.

And so I just turn the TV off and go to my bedroom as well. I, of course, am greeted by the still ugly bedspread. And for a moment I consider starting it on fire, but then I realize I have no idea where he keeps his matches, so my plan fails before it even starts. Which SO does not make me feel any better about anything.

And I sort of really miss Potter.

o o o

And so that was probably one of the most awkward encounters with someone of the opposite sex I've ever had in my life. Including the time in fifth year I went on that date with Cho. No lie.

I mean, I can't even remember what we ended up ordering to eat. All I know is that I could barely even swallow it. There was (and still is) this ridiculous lump in my throat and it just won't go away.

And I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Aw, go cry a fucking river, why dontcha?"

Well, I'll have you know that I have no intentions of doing so. I'm just having some issues with the communication between my brain and my throat right now. Minor technical difficulties, you know. I figured I'd just give it a few hours and I'd be fine. So I excused myself from the living room and went to bed. And the this morning I've holed myself up in my bedroom with the computer and am doing some work.

And thank god for silence that isn't screaming to be filled. And work, too. Work is great. It keeps the mind busy and stuff. It's just excellent, really.

But, as everyone knows, nothing good can last forever. And my solitude is no exception, broken by a knock on the door sometime just after ten in the morning.

Jeeze, I wonder who it is? Ha.

A dark head pops in before I get a chance invite her in, "Hey, what are you doing?"

I don't move my eyes from the screen, "Just some junk for work."

"And by 'work' do you mean 'war stuff'?

"Maybe," I say evasively, watching her out of the corner of my eye.

"So," she begins, shifting her weight from one leg to another, "like, is your entire company just a front?"

I feign disinterest, asking, "A front?"

"You know," she begins, clasping her hands in front of her body, "just posing as something else just to cover for what really goes on there."

"It isn't the black market, Pansy," I explain as I pick up a stack of paper and slip it into a file folder.

"No, I know," she says quickly, "Well, I mean, I guess I _don't_ know... but you know."

"Wait," I say, finally looking up at her, "What?"

She takes a moment to rethink what she's just said, finally furrowing her eyebrows, "...I'm not quite sure."

And I just can't help but feel the tiniest bit perturbed and I swear it isn't because of what happened yesterday. Well, at least I'd like it not to be because of what happened yesterday. "Look, I'm sort of busy."

"Oh," she says, looking sort of surprised, "okay..."

"And yes," I answer.

She raises an eyebrow, "Yes?"

"Yes, it's a front," I clarify, "Not too elaborate, but it gets the job done."

"I don't suppose," she asks, "you'll be willing to let me in on what I was actually doing while spending my days there?"

"No," I shake my head, "probably not."

She laughs a little, confessing, "I actually sort of miss it."

"Impossible," I unbelievingly reply, realizing she's reeling me back in.

She shrugs, "Jake from Accounting was always really nice."

I give her an incredulous look, "Jake from Accounting is a kiss-ass."

"Well," she smiles, "his sort _are _my favorite type of people."

"I'm so sure." I laugh.

And I just can't figure out how she can just stand there, all unaffected by all of this. I mean, it's driving me slightly insane, and I know I have to get her out of the room, saying, "But yeah, I've got to get to this. It should only take an hour or so, then we can decide what to have for lunch or something."

And I can practically see her eyes light up at the thought. Of lunch, I mean.

"I'll peruse the menus," she tells me, grinning.

I can't help but smile a bit at the half-rhyme, "Aren't you clever?"

"Yep," she nods, "I can rhyme... anytime."

"Oh, Pans..." I grimace.

"Okay, okay, Potter," she amends, "I'm leaving. Don't get too caught up in your work. It's not like the world's depending on you."

"Ha ha," I deadpan as she begins to close the door.

She pops her head back in, asking, "Too soon for that?"

"It'll always be too soon," I state seriously, but include a wink as an afterthought.

"Huh," she says, "Well, leaving!"

I give her a short wave, "Bye."

And when the door shuts, I slouch back into my chair, sighing.

It's not like I was lying, you know. I mean, I've got tons of stuff to do. But it's not anything that can't wait until tomorrow. It's just that... ever since I've had my realization (and half-assed confession) of my new feelings for her, it's just ...awkward being in the same room with her.

Well, maybe not awkward... just... depressing?

I mean, I know it's completely irrational, that during the middle of a war, here I am slightly agonizing over some girl I can't have. Some girl whose fiancée is a traitor to the cause I've been fighting for for a decade. But there it is.

And I can't help but think that I am _so _in over my head.

* * *

**A/N**: What is this? An update in less than a week? Insanity, I say!

To my reviewers: Thanks sooo much for taking the time to review!

EnlightenedKing: Well, it will hopefully only get more interesting from here on out. We'll see!

harrison potter: No Hermione/Ron this chapter! You're happy, I know it. ;)

greenlee: Thanks so much! hehe.

LaBelle Evans: Agh! You're on to my plan! ;) Nah... Well, no one had hot and dirty sex this chapter, I'm sorry! Besides, I suck at writing smut... haha.

random6234: Thanks for reviewing:)

Cybill: Hehe, yeah, pretty much.

blueeyedchibi: I'm sort of convinced the site ate the rest of your review. So, to you I say: Hey back! It's the thought that counts, anyway:)

(_5/24/06_)


	10. But I Just Don't

**Disclaimer**: If I owned 'em, I probably wouldn't have taken months and months to update.

**Chapter Ten**: But I Just Don't

* * *

An hour and a half later I know I can't stay holed up in my office much longer. Fuck knows why I even said I'd be coming out. I should've just said right away, "Hey, yeah, this? Totally driving me insane. And, uh, I won't be coming out of this room until I've resolved this little internal conflict of mine." ...Which of course would mean I'd never be leaving again. Well, until I had to go buy toothpaste or something. But that's beside the point, really.

And I guess I don't know what I expect to find her doing when I finally convince myself to leave my safe little cocoon, but instead I find her cooking.

I mean, you can't make this kind of shit up. You really can't.

So I stand slack-jawed in the doorway of the kitchen for a good five minutes before she glances up from chopping carrots (yeah, real carrots with an honest-to-Merlin real knife) and says, "Oh, hey. I thought I'd just cook something tonight."

And before I realize it, I'm saying, "No shit. Where'd all this..." I motion to the freaking arsenal of cooking equipment before finishing, "stuff come from?" 'Cause, yeah, I _know_ I didn't have anything like any of the stuff she's using in my kitchen before today.

She shrugs offhandedly before mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like "I called Ron with your cell phone."

And I'm still too shocked to be angry about this all. Besides, I'd wager Ron's mad enough for the both of us. Well, you know, maybe.

Somehow she realizes that me grasping the idea that she can actually be domestic is going to take more than a few minutes, she goes back to her chopping of said carrots.

And simply because I can't think of anything better to say, I ask, "So, what are you making then?"

She looks up at me blankly, as if it were blatantly obvious what she's cooking.

So I return her look with a questioning one.

She rolls her eyes before explaining. "_Carrots_, Pot-Pot. C'mon, you're supposed to be fairly sharp."

I stammer, "So that's--that's what... our entire meal is going to consist of?"

She gives me a look. "Carrots are _good _for you. Fight cancer and other muggle shit like that."

I ignore her insinuation that cancer is just a muggle thing, because, honestly, I don't want to get into it with her. Never mind the part where if it were only muggles who got it, then why should _we_ be eating the damn carrots?

I clear my throat, finally working up the courage to ask my next question. "Uh, we having anything else with the carrots?"

And then her face finally falls from its sort of snotty expression. And it sort of feels like my heart just sank to the bottom of my stomach, which is weird, right? "Hey, don't even worry about it."

"Harry..."

"Pans. I'm sorry. I'll run to the store and pick up a couple of steaks or something."

She sighs. "Just 'cause you're like the freakin' savior of the world doesn't mean you always gotta rain on everyone else's parade."

I've really never thought of it that way before. And I know she's right.

I don't know what comes over me, but the very next thing I do is pull her in for a huge hug, bad-assed knife and all. I can only assume it shocks the hell out of her, because I hear the knife clatter to the ground. It isn't long after that she returns my embrace.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers.

I pull back. "Pansy, what? Why?"

She shakes her head and pulls away from my grasp, bending over to pick up the knife. She turns towards the counter once again, continuing her chopping.

I feel slightly deflated and chew on my lower lip for a minute before deciding to go out and buy some meat to go with this whole dinner. Bringing home the bacon and all that other sexist crap.

When I get back from the store (two decent steaks in hand), she's stirring a pot that seems to be practically full of all those damn carrots she'd been chopping. I mean, if we're not going to let them go to waste, we're going to be eating them for the rest of the week.

Considering how much I really don't like cooked carrots, I'm thinking of sacrificing the carrots to waste for my own selfish benefit. Hey, don't think less of me for it. Cooked carrots are just... gross.

She seems to have come out of whatever funk she was in before I left. But that's kind of beside the point now, because her little mood swing got me thinking about all the angsty shit I was mulling over this morning. And let me tell you what, Angst-ville is not a place that's exactly easy to leave once you've somehow fallen into its clutches. Well, unless you're a woman, apparently; 'cause like I said, Pansy seems to be just fine now. I almost envy her. Almost.

She turns from her stirring. "So what'd you bring back? I hope it's not pork chops, 'cause those... Ugh. I can't even talk about them."

I chuckle while she continues.

"I mean, doesn't pork stick in your throat too?"

I give her a small grimace. I mean, I'm not exactly comfortable talking about throats with any girl. Maybe that means I'm not secure in my sexuality? I have no idea. Was I the only one that made that jump there? God, I probably need to see a shrink or something.

She notices the expression in my face change. "Hey, nothing against pork chops, honestly, Potter. I mean, I'm sure they're... uh... really great. Yeah."

I give her a grin, snapping out of my throat-thoughts. "Nah, it's nothing. And no, I didn't buy pork chops. But only because the ones they had there all looked a bit off-color."

"Pork chops can look off-color?"

"You bet. Haven't you ever had to go grocery shopping for yourself, Pans?"

"Um, no. Why would I have to? And more importantly, why would I want to?"

I raise my eyebrow at her.

"I mean, really. All those people? Don't babies get stolen at grocery stores? That's what my mum always told me."

I don't even know how to begin to reply to this. "Um, yeah, Pans. All the time. That's why muggles have nannies for their kids. They watch them while the parents go to the store to get food."

She nods, accepting this.

I choke back a laugh, but she notices.

"You're horrible. I mean, honestly. You really shouldn't be laughing about stolen babies."

"No," I say solemnly. "I really shouldn't. I'm sorry."

I move to the kitchen counter and pull the steaks out of the plastic bag.

"Let's get these going, yeah?"

She shakes her head at me, but digs out a frying pan anyway.

o o o

A half hour later we're sitting at the dining room table. And, honestly, things couldn't be going better. I mean, if we were on a date or something. It's ridiculous, really. And it's also completely sick.

I mean, why am I doing this to myself? Spending all this time with a girl that will never be mine because she's already so completely promised to someone else. Scratch that, not even just a normal "somebody else" but fucking Draco Malfoy.

I have honestly never envied Malfoy anything. Until now. And does it ever suck.

I'm really trying not to let it all get to me, but despite my best efforts it all comes crashing in around me.

She leans in towards me and I barely notice myself stop breathing. Her hand moves towards my face, then smudges my bottom lip.

I look to her as she's wiping her finger on her napkin.

"Steak sauce," she explains before spearing a few carrots.

But the invasion of my personal space is just all too much.

"You know how I feel. And, like, I get that it isn't going to happen, but why won't you leave me alone?"

She looks up at me sharply, "You--you want me to leave you alone?"

I shake my head, wanting to punch myself for saying anything at all. But it's too late now, I've dug myself a hole. "No, but--it's killing me."

She purses her lips. "What's killing you?"

And it all just comes pouring out. "Having you around. Being in the same room when I know I'll never have you."

"You--wait--what?"

"I'm really trying to explain this, here..."

She looks confused. "I don't understand, Harry."

I swallow hard. "Being around you just like... something so different than anything else I have to deal with."

She finally puts her fork down on her plate. "And this is a good thing?"

"It is and it isn't." I can't believe I'm saying these things. I feel sick. "Agh, why does this have to be so hard?"

"I _am _sorry we can't be together, you know"

I sigh detachedly. "This is just the story of my life, not getting the girl because of who I am."

She whispers, "I know."

"And I really don't want to feel sorry for myself, you know? I mean, that's totally lame. I know I should just be happy to spend time with you. But... I can't stop myself from wishing..."

"That things could be different?"

I nod. "Something like that."

"So what do you want me to do? Should I leave?"

"You don't have anywhere to go, Pans."

"I might be safe at my parents'--"

"No, you'll stay here."

"Harry, I don't want to hurt you. It's just I don't know what to do in this situation. I mean, it's not every day the epic hero takes in the inconsequential girl who's only originally mentioned in the story as a side note."

"My life _isn't _a story."

"Maybe not today, but it will be someday."

"Well, if it is, you're going to be so much more than a side note."

She gives me a small smile. "What, I'll get a paragraph?"

"Yeah, though, it still might be kinda short." I somehow manage a smile as well.

"'Cause of all this angsty shit that means we can't be together?"

"Yeah, 'cause of the angsty shit."

"Fuck, I hate angst."

"I'm gonna second that."

"So, enough of this junk, right?"

"Right."

o o o

And I totally thought that whole conversation Potter started at the table was us getting things resolved, you know? We can't be together. Yeah, it sucks, but that's the breaks.

Okay, so maybe it'll never be that simple. It was maybe sort of killing me too, but I knew I couldn't just _leave_. I was going to take what I could get.

Which I figured would just be me annoying the hell out of him on a daily basis. It could be fun, you know?

Well, I guess "can't be together" holds a different meaning in that head of his, because one second I'm walking towards my bedroom after dinner and the next thing I know, I'm up against the wall, and he's kissing me like this is the last time he'll ever kiss a girl.

And it sort of makes me feel like it's the last time I'll ever kiss a guy tool. I mean, not that it's bad. It's anything but bad. I just sort of feel like I could die completely happy with having my last kiss come from him.

And it isn't romantic or anything, it's sort of rough and I think I taste a hint of blood in my mouth, though I can't decide where it's coming from. I stop wondering about it when I realize it _truly_ doesn't matter.

I bring my hands up to the back of his head, raking them through his hair and pulling him closer to me.

I mean, distance _sucks_.

But there's less distance now, so I'm feeling pretty decent about all this.

Maybe "decent" is an understatement. Hey, I never said I was good with words. Well, except that one time. But, well, you know...

Anyway, pretty soon I'm sliding down the wall, basically willing to do anything not to lose contact with him. And I don't really know how it happens, but I realize with a start that my legs are wrapped rather tightly around his torso; so I'm essentially sitting on his lap, propped up against the wall.

So there we are, in the hallway outside each of our bedrooms (equipped with perfectly good beds), but for some reason that doesn't register to either of us.

We'll just say rational thinking has been long since abandoned.

I feel his left hand skim over my right knee as he begins playing with the hem of my skirt while the other brushes back and forth across my jaw line.

And then I start laughing.

I try not to, honestly. But I'm just terribly inappropriate like that. For real.

He breaks away somehow, entirely despite the fact I've still got one my hands locked on his head (my other hand is now covering my mouth, while I still fight and lose the urge not to laugh).

I know I'm hopelessly flushed. Maybe he'll think it's from arousal not embarrassment? Ha, as if.

He's sort of breathless when he quietly asks, "What? What's so funny?"

I giggle a little insanely as I bury my head into his shoulder and state in a muffled voice, "I am such a whore."

His lips come to rest in my hair, right next to my ear. I feel him smile and huskily say, "I know, that's what I like most about you."

I shiver a little and smile as I tug at his hair. "Shut up, you're not supposed to agree."

"Pulling hair, Pans? What is this, second year?"

"If this were second year then I really would be a whore."

"I know."

"...Not supposed to agree..." I remind him

He continues anyway. "You did wear those short skirts all through school, you know."

"Like you noticed."

"Maybe not, but others did."

"Like who?"

"Ron."

I pull away quickly, wide eyes staring at him. "Shut the fuck up."

He smiles broadly. "It's true."

Wide eyed, I give him a critical look. "You're lying."

"Why would I lie?"

"Um... to get into my pants?"

"You're not wearing pants," he reminds me.

I roll my eyes half-heartedly. "You know what I mean."

"No," he shakes his head, "not to get into your pants. I have other methods of doing such. And I was doing pretty well until you started laughing like a maniac."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"You should be. The moment's all come and gone now."

"You think so?"

"No, not really."

"So..."

"So."

And in those moments that elapse what I've just allowed to happen really, truly sinks in.

Something I said begins to run through my head: "_She's promised. Not that promises mean anything to anyone anymore, but they do to her._"_  
_  
And yeah, that was totally about the angsty fifteen year old who was dying her hair black because of her stupid boyfriend... but, like, it sort of wasn't.

It was sort of about me. And it was the truth. About promises, I mean. Promises _mean _something.

The ring on my finger means something. And it's going to continue meaning something as long as it's there.

I swallow hard, edging slightly to the left away from Harry. I guess I sort of hoped he wouldn't notice, but he does instantly.

"What? What is it?"

"I, uh, nothing. Nothing, honest. I just, uh..."

I'm at a total loss of words. And he doesn't have the slightest idea as to why. I mean, all the guy has to go off of is context, and as far as context goes, we were just making out, totally fine until I burst out laughing. And laughing generally doesn't make one wonder what's wrong with the situation.

Sometimes I swear he could see right through me with those green eyes if he set his mind to it. But apparently he can't. He has no idea what I'm thinking. And I can't bring myself to tell him again. Not now. And it's a total cop out, but it's the only thing I can trust myself to do correctly.

So I smile, hoping he won't notice that it doesn't quite reach my eyes, but before I get a chance to say anything, we're interrupted -- like we always are.

I can't say I'm not relieved. I had no idea what I was going to say to him.

What interrupted us this time, pray tell?

A cell phone, of course. A wonderful invention, really.

Harry's cell phone, to be exact.

o o o

And damn it all to fucking hell if my piece of shit cell phone isn't ringing. Again.

I take a deep, soothing sort of breath before flipping it open to greet the person on the other end of the line. "What?"

It's Hermione, and I swear this is how she replies to my greeting, stating simply, "Ants."

"What," I ask again.

And she sounds a bit more hysterical when she repeats herself. "Ants, Harry. Our flat is infested with ants."

I frown slightly, handing out my condolences. "Oh, that sucks..."

"Yes," she says matter-of-factly. "It does. So, we'll be moving in with you while we get the place fumigated."

Wait. What? "You'll what?"

But she's not really listening to me, continuing on with a plan I know she's already come up with. "Now, we'll need to move in as soon as possible, you understand."

And, wow, this has got to stop, "I--"

She cuts me off, though. "Don't worry, we've shook out all of our belongings we're bringing with us, so we won't infest you."

My shoulders involuntarily slouch as I ask, "Infest?"

"Yes," she affirms impatiently, "haven't you been listening?"

And there's really nothing else for me to say. "I, uh... of course."

"Good," she says in a very business-like tone.

"Yeah," I sigh.

"Well," she states, "we'll see you in about twenty five minutes, okay?"

And my head is sort of swimming. Hermione and Ron can't come live here. There's not even enough room in my flat for four people to live. I mean, it's tricky enough as it is with just me and Pansy. But I somehow fail to voice any of that, instead just replying, "Okay."

"Bye, Harry," she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "You're a doll."

"Bye," I say distantly, flipping my phone shut as Pansy moves to sit beside me up against the wall.

* * *

**A/N**: Guys, first off, I am SO sorry about taking like a year to update. I suck, I know. Secondly, I also know the change in POV's are crap too. I'm really going to try to keep it to just either Harry or Pansy's perspective... just one of them! Okay, now that that's settled... on with the rest!

LaBelle Evans: I agree, poor Harry. I'm glad you liked the chapter!!

harrison potter: ahh, your reviews make me smile. yeah, they need to get together already, right?

abercrombie 18: hee hee... that would be my plan for them. exploding, I mean. :)

Cybill: oh dear... I hope you didn't choke on your mouse. for real.

blueeyedchibi: oh my... and then I don't update for like a year. I'm sorry... I just got struck with this horrible conscience about what I was doing to those poor not-so-magical kids.

EnlightenedKing: omg, you have no idea how much your review made me rethink EVERYTHING I had planned. you, like, gave me a conscience about her cheating on Draco. why'd you go and do that?? ;) no, but really, thank you for reviewing... it's an issue that DOES need to be resolved. :)

pansyfansy: I'm glad you liked their banter... it was really fun to write. I just love trying to get into Pansy's head. :)

_ (1/31/07)_


	11. Promise Me You'll Always Stay

**Disclaimer**: Dude, I don't own them. Though, I'd totally take _any _of the Hogwarts boys if I could have one. Real boys are overrated.

**Chapter Eleven**: Promise Me You'll Always Stay

* * *

I sigh internally as I scoot up against the wall next to Potter. 

"Do not tell me I heard the word 'ants' in that conversation."

He brings a hand up to wipe at his mouth, avoiding my eyes. "Yeah, ants."

"So... what's going on?" I glance at him and know getting any information out of him will be like pulling teeth.

"I, uh..." He trails off and it doesn't seem like he's planning on continuing.

And for some reason I just feel so disgusted. Maybe with him or maybe with myself. Hell, maybe both of us.

"Look, Harry--" I stop, wondering why I used his first name. "--Whatever, honestly. You don't owe me any kind of explanation. I mean, _us_? We're not really in that sort of relationship, are we?"

"Pans--"

"No. I--I don't know what this..." I motion at the air between us, somehow it's supposed to represent our relationship. I only hope he gathers that. "Is supposed to be. I really don't. But... I just... can't..."

He tries to break in again. "I'm so sorry--"

"Harry--" There's his name again. "--no. Just let me finish, okay? I don't know what this is between us. Like, it's hard to even comprehend it all at once, you know? And I know it's wrong. I know I'm promised to Draco. I _know _that, okay?"

And, oh fuck, I'm crying. What is _with _the waterworks lately? I am getting _so _sick of it.

He shifts as if he's going to move closer to me. I put one hand out in a silent plea for him to stay where he is. I take a shaky breath and continue.

"But just thinking about leaving here... Thinking about what life would be like without you? I can't even imagine it. I don't know why, either. It doesn't make sense. I thought I was happy before, you know? But now..." I shake my head. "Now everything is just so different. I don't know what to do anymore."

I glance at him from the corner of my eye before turning to face him. "Harry, tell me what to do."

He swallows hard and I see his Adam's apple bob. "Just stay. Stay here with me."

And now I'm crying more than before.

"Well, not just me," he amends. "Ron and Hermione too."

I wipe away some of the tears from my eyes. "Because of the ants?"

"Yeah." He gives me the smallest of smiles. "Because of the ants."

"How long do we have? Before they're here, that is."

"Twenty minutes?"

I finally close the space between us, wrapping my arms around his torso and bury my head in the crook of his shoulder. It's strange to feel so safe.

He clears his throat.

"Hey, uh, Pans?"

"Yeah?"

"You're not too big on personal space, are you?"

I wonder if that is his subtle way of asking me to get the hell off of him. I start to pull away, but his arms tighten around me.

I frown into his neck. "Why?"

"Well, uh, as you know, my apartment only has two bedrooms."

I smile. "Yes, I might've visited once or twice."

"Yeah. And, well, Hermione and Ron are going to need somewhere to stay."

"The couch?"

"No," I feel him shake his head, "I don't think the couch is going to cut it. Besides, it doesn't even fold out."

"What?" This time I do pull back a bit, to face him. "Who buys couches that don't fold out?"

"What do you mean, who buys couches that don't fold out? People who like to be able to move their furniture by themselves, that's who. Do you know how much hide-a-beds weigh? Like tons. Not even kidding."

Now, I've never tried to move a couch-bed, but I'm skeptical nonetheless. "I think you might be kidding a little."

"Well, maybe just a bit. But yeah. No hide-a-bed."

I pout. "I don't want to share a room with Granger."

He bursts out laughing. "Of course you don't."

"What's so funny? Come on, I really don't want to! Don't make me, please."

"The thought never even crossed my mind."

And then I realize the obvious. I'm going to be sleeping in his bed. And oh-my-god is that ever going to be weird. But not as weird as it would be sharing a bed with Granger, I suppose.

"So, you think us sharing a bed is going to get you laid?"

He laughs. "Hey, I had nothing to do with any of this."

I nod sarcastically. "You already decided that I was going to be sharing your room."

"Well, it only makes sense. 'Cause, like, you can't keep Ron and Hermione apart. It goes against nature and _everything_. No matter how many rooms there are in a house, 95 percent of the time they end up in the same one."

"95 percent, huh? You do a statistical analysis or something in your free time?"

"What do _you _think?"

"I think you're too busy saving the world to run analyses on anything. Even your two best friends."

"You'll never know for sure, though, will you?"

I sigh. "I just don't know how I'm going to live with all the uncertainty. For real, even, Potter."

"Well, you'll live in my bed, for a start."

"Oh, that's right. I'd already forgotten. You're just that memorable!" I lightly punch him on the shoulder.

"Thanks," he says as he grabs for the hand I just hit him with, "I like to think so."

I take a moment and stare at my hand wrapped up in his. I look back to him. "Did this conversation have a point?"

"Yeah," he smiles enthusiastically. "You in my bed."

I laugh. "I have a feeling a lot of our conversations are going to come down to that."

"You could be right."

"I feel like we should toast to the future."

"Will bottled water work? I don't keep much of anything else on hand."

I pretend to be shocked by the news he has nothing in his kitchen. "I had no idea."

"Don't be smart."

"Don't be an idiot." I smile at him again.

"That's like telling me not to breathe, you know."

"Did I ever tell you you'd look good in blue?"

"Possibly. I didn't believe you then either, babe. Blue would totally clash with my eyes."

"Oh, so you've given it thought?"

"Not much. Just a little here, a little there."

"_Sure_."

And then I pull myself close to him again, resting my head on his shoulder. It's really nice for the whole two minutes it lasts.

I swear they don't even bother knocking. The first thing I hear are keys thrown on the kitchen table.

Weasley yells. "Honey, we're home!"

I briefly wonder if he brought me that jar of peanut butter I asked him for earlier today that he never delivered on.

I move off of Harry quickly. I stand and begin to blindly straighten out my clothes and hair.

Harry pulls himself off the floor in one fluid motion. Somehow he doesn't look rumpled in the slightest bit. Why is it guys' clothes all come with some wrinkle-resistor? They've got it so easy.

I hear Hermione. "Ronald, what have I told you about taking off your shoes?"

"Um, to do it?"

"So," she says pointedly, "what are you forgetting?"

Harry and I round the corner into the kitchen.

Harry smiles. "C'mon Hermione, it's not that big of a deal."

She shakes her head. "Don't encourage him Harry. He has to learn."

Ron raises both of his eyebrows. "Hello? I'm standing _right here_. Thanks."

I give him an expectant look.

His eyebrows drop back to their normal position. "Oh, no. No, Pansy. I did not bring you your peanut butter. You are just going to have to learn to live without it."

I sigh. "Just 'cause Granger keeps you on the world's shortest leash doesn't mean you have to take it out on everyone else."

He looks to Harry. "Is there no way to shut her up?"

"Hey." He gives him a warning glance. "Play nice."

I consider sticking my tongue out at Ron, but Harry turns to me before I can act on it. "You too, missy. We've all got to get along. Pull together, you know? It'll be like a nice bedtime story or something. People will admire us for centuries to come."

All three of us give him blank stares.

"What? No? Well, fine. Just be nice for the sake of being nice then, okay? Is that going to be so hard?"

I look at him like he's sort of crazy. "Uh, yeah. It totally will be."

Ron nods. Hermione looks reluctant to say anything at all.

"Whatever, guys," Harry says. "C'mon Ron, Hermione. Let's get you to the guest room."

"Oh," Hermione interjects, "but isn't that where Pansy's staying?"

"Um, yeah, she was. But obviously..."

"So where's she staying now? Honestly, Harry, you can't just kick her out."

Ron looks skeptically at me. I feel like he's trying to figure out where exactly I plan on going when Harry kicks me out. I actually think I see a little sympathy in his eyes. And while that sympathy might score me the peanut butter I want, I don't really like it. The sympathy that is.

Despite Ron staring at me, I manage to laugh at Granger, thus sparing Harry the problem of explaining things to her. "I've been promoted. Harry and I are going to stay in the same room."

"You're what?" That's from Granger. She looks a little appalled.

"Hey, settle down. That's what we did when we first moved into our house, Hermione."

Her expression softens. Ron slings an arm around her shoulder and starts to lead her to their new room. "All righty then, Miss Hermione. I think we could both use some quiet time. A little relaxation after the whole ant fiasco."

I hear her faintly mumble, "I hate ants. I really do."

He pulls her a little closer and speaks softly. "I know, babe. I know."

Oddly enough, now that we're left alone again, I feel weird around Harry. Awkward, you know?

I guess it shows through because he brushes his hand across my shoulder. "Hey, you doing okay?"

I look into his green, green eyes. "Yeah, I'm good."

He smiles. "Good. Let's go watch some TV, yeah?"

o o o

Harry opts not to go back to work after his lunch hour and we spend the day and night watching some history channel. It's great how muggles go about excavating ancient cities and other stuff like that. I mean, they have these little brushes that are about the size of a paint brush and they just sit there and brush away sand. I mean, how dull can one person's job get?

Wait, how dull does my life have to be that I find entertainment in watching them dust sand off of old shit? I try talk about this with Harry, but instead of staying on subject, he just smiles.

"I think it's time for bed. You're getting a little kooky."

"I'm always kooky."

"Maybe you never get enough sleep."

"I--" I stop to consider that. "Maybe I don't."

"Okay, then. Bedtime!"

And then it really hits me. I'm going to be sleeping with Harry Potter tonight.

I mean, it's not like it hasn't happened before, but still. Remember the whole drooling incident? Merlin, I hope that doesn't happen again.

I realize that I'm starting to panic. And then I realize that Harry's already standing and the TV has been turned off.

He holds a hand out to me. "C'mon, let's go."

I remind myself to breathe. I remind myself that he's just a guy. And not even that great of a guy, either.

Okay, so I'm lying to myself. Can you really blame a girl?

After a moment's hesitation I grab his hand and stand from the couch.

Once we reach his room and he's shut the door, I turn to him.

"Harry, I can't... Not tonight." I hope he understands what I mean.

He smiles at me again. "I wouldn't even dream of it, Pansy."

I'm finally able to return his smile. "Liar."

"Okay, maybe I'd dream of it. But, still. Willpower and all that shit! It's totally rocking my world right now."

I nod. "Okay. Thanks. Really."

He pulls off his dress shirt and immediately pulls a t-shirt over his head. "Anything for you, babe."

I move across the room to where he's standing and give him a hug. "You're really a great guy. You know that, right?"

He presses his nose into my hair. "I might've heard it once or twice. Never gets old, though."

I smile and close my eyes. "Can I borrow one of your t-shirts to sleep in tonight?"

"Yeah, I'll grab one." He releases his hold on me and starts digging in the top drawer of his bureau, pulling out a navy shirt.

I take it from him and sort of flounce past him and into his bathroom. "Be back in a bit!"

When I return from the bathroom, he's already in bed, arms crossed behind his head and is staring at the ceiling. It's like a total meditative state before he goes to sleep or something.

I slowly crawl in beneath the sheets next to him and start to settle myself.

He turns his head towards me. "What are you doing all the way over there?"

"Uh, personal space?"

"Nonsense." And he pulls me close to him, arms wrapping around me once again. I can't help but shiver a little.

"You cold?"

"No. I'm perfect."

He smiles. "Night, Pansy."

I whisper, "Night, Harry."

o o o

When I wake up the next morning, Harry's already gone.

I get out of bed and go to the living room, flicking on the Sacred Television Set, or Herbie, as I like to call it when I'm feeling lots of love for it. About ten minutes later, Hermione comes out of her and Ron's room, and glances at the TV and then at me. She then proceeds to shuffle into the kitchen.

"You want breakfast?"

"What?" ...'cause, honestly, I don't know what she could possibly be referring to. The old box of frosted flakes in the cupboard by the sink? I mean, honestly? No thank you.

She pops her head back into the living room. "Breakfast. You know, pancakes, eggs, French toast, bacon, grapefruit...?"

I laugh out loud. "You know that there's no way in hell Harry's got any of that, right?"

She shrugs like it doesn't matter. And, well, what do I know? Maybe it doesn't matter.

"Orange juice?" I question.

"Sure, why not?"

I smile. Breakfast is so awesome.

"So, what'll it be?"

Who knew old Hermo-ninny could be so nice? Forget that, who knew she was a morning person? Who even knew morning people actually existed?

"Um... scrambled eggs, bacon... Hey, can we have hash browns?"

"I'll see what I can do."

And I know we'll have hash browns, 'cause, hello! Hermione Granger is on the case.

Looking back to the TV, I realize I am in a really good mood now, too. Maybe the promise of cooked breakfast has the ability to make anyone into a morning person. Who knows?

Almost three hours later Ron Weasley emerges from the pit of Harry's apartment, looking disheveled and oh-so sleepy.

"Morning, sunshine," Hermione chirps loud enough that he winces. I have a feeling she does it on purpose.

"Breakfast?" he mumbles.

"There are leftovers on the stove."

With a nod he trudges into the kitchen. He comes back out with a frying pan in one hand and a fork in the other. He sinks towards the floor and props himself up against the couch, shoving his face full of what has to be a slightly cold breakfast.

Watching him eat somehow entrances me. When Hermione speaks it scares the crap out of me.

"You do know that pan is Teflon, right Ron?"

He mumbles something that sounds a lot like "What the fuck?"

She purses her lips, "You better not be scraping the finish on the pan. Because you know what'll happen if you do that, right?"

Apparently he's opting to ignore her.

"You'll end up eating chunks of Teflon. And do you know what else? Your body cannot digest chunks of Teflon. And you'll die of cancer."

I'm almost certain she's missing a few significant other facts about the whole eating Teflon thing, but I keep my mouth shut. I have no desire to duel with Granger. 'Cause, I mean, come on, she could totally take me. Any day of the week, even.

Ron rolls his eyes, but I notice that he seems to be making a conscious attempt not to even scuff the pan with his fork.

After he finishes eating, he stands and actually takes the pan back out into the kitchen. I can only assume it's something Hermione has taught him to do, 'cause there's no way the guy would behave in such a way had he not been tainted by some feminine influence.

When he returns to the room, he finally graces us with words: "I feel like fucking shit."

Hermione seems disinterested. "You've been sleeping an awful lot."

His face brightens at the prospect of receiving sympathy. "Which is why I can't figure it out. I think I'm coming down with something."

"Let me restate." She turns her head to look at him. "You've been sleeping too much."

He snorts. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm not kidding. It's a scientific fact."

"What is?"

She gives him a once-over. "You are not seriously that daft."

"Humor me."

"It's a scientific fact that if you sleep too much, it'll only make you even more tired."

"What?"

"Look, it doesn't matter how it works, it just does. You're sleeping too much and that makes you sleepy."

"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Well, unlike everyone else in the world, you aren't privileged enough to hear how you sound when you talk to people. So, yeah, I guess I'd buy that that's the stupidest thing you've ever heard."

Even I think that's pretty lame for Granger.

"Wait, nope." He shakes his head. "Never mind. Whatever the hell you just said was the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Thanks." She smirks. "You're so gracious."

"Anytime, babe." He smirks back at her. "Anytime."

I wait for them to continue talking. I mean, that can't be all there's going to be to the conversation, right? A girl has expectations!

"So... I'm going back to bed."

"You--What? Did you not listen to a word I just said?"

"Yeah, I did. It was painful. I had no idea what you were saying. I thought we established that already."

She stands up from the couch. "Do not go back to sleep."

He runs a hand through his tousled red hair. "Don't tell me what to do!"

"Ronald, do not pull that on me."

And he must realize she's actually getting angry. "Pull what? Was that innuendo?"

"What?" She's confused. "Fuck. No, it wasn't innuendo."

I begin to realize Granger's only a morning person (even though it's practically noon by now) until Ron wakes up.

"Sounded like innuendo." He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

"It wasn't--" She cuts herself off. "How did you change the subject like that on me?"

He holds his hands in front of himself, elbows bent and palms facing out. "I didn't change the subject, you're the one that wants in my pants."

"I do not want in your pants. Ugh."

He smiles. "Do not pretend it grosses you out. I know it doesn't."

"Just... ugh! Don't go back to sleep!"

"Why do you care?"

"'Cause I have to listen to you complain!"

He accepts this for some reason. "Oh."

And then he starts to head out of the room. Towards the bedroom.

Hermione glares at his retreating form. I honestly don't know how these two manage to live together all the time, I mean especially if they don't get to have angry sex or anything!

Just then Harry comes through the door. Thank Merlin for sanity!

Hermione turns to him. "Hi, Harry." Then she follows the path Ron has taken.

Harry pulls a face and turns his attention towards me. "She looked pissed. She's pissed, right?"

"Jeeze, Pot-Pot. And they say you don't have any brains in that pretty head of yours."

"Stupid question?"

"So stupid. I mean, is she ever not mad at Weasley?"

He thinks for a moment. "Yeah, there really are times."

"Are they both asleep during those times?"

He smiles. "No. Holidays, surprisingly enough. They get along really well during the holidays."

I consider this while slouching back into the couch, eyes flicking over the TV screen before returning back to him. I don't really know what to say in return.

"What did you bring me, then?"

"Bring you?"

"From your ventures to the mysterious Outer World, duh!"

"Oh, I'd almost forgotten. I visit so many mysterious worlds a day. But, really, you can't expect gifts from all those worlds, sweetie, 'cause I just couldn't possibly afford it."

"That's crap and you know it."

"Maybe. Maybe not. It's expensive having three people living with me."

"You know you like it."

"Yeah, I'm totally getting the childhood I never had. Only mommy and daddy aren't married and they fight like they're brother and sister. And you? Oh, don't even get me started."

"Wait, what am I in this little family?"

He gives me a sarcastic smile.

"C'mon, Potter. Lemme know. I wanna knoowww. I'm dying here!"

"The truth?"

"The truth," I affirm.

"You are the... hm... annoying pet Pekingese whose fur gets absolutely everywhere and that has a super special diet and has to be fed hourly; but no one really seems to mind for some reason."

I know there must be a compliment in there somewhere, but my interests are somewhere else. "If I'm a Pekingese, why don't I get to go outside?"

"That's what the newspaper is for, Pans." He smiles. He totally knows he's made some sort of pun there.

* * *

**A/N**: Holy crap! Look at this! An update that didn't take a million years! I totally must have superpowers or something. Not even kidding. Well, much. 

Okay, the story! I know lots of you don't like Ron/Hermione. And, honestly? I get it. I totally do. I hated them too. But then I had, like, this epiphany about them... I wrote about it on my profile. So yes. That's that explanation there.

Reviewers! I LOOVEE you all. So much!

Thanks to: Cybill, LaBelle Evans, blueeyedchibi, xoTORTORxo, Lrnd, Lucifer-the-great-undead, EnlightenedKing, Gwinna, & Zevrillion for reviewing! I'm going to message all y'all back regarding your reviews and what you had to say! 'Cause I just heart you all that much. For real, even!

-tahwekilelohcin

**Review**?

(_2/17/07_)


	12. The Night Starts Here

**Disclaimer:** Dude, Harry Potter is freakin' over, yet I continue. It's so obvious that I am not JKR, it hurts. Honestly, there's _pain_. So, yeah, don't own 'em.

**Chapter 12**: The Night Starts Here

* * *

"Woof, woof, Potter. So, where's my food then?" 

"What, Hermione didn't make you breakfast?"

"Uh, yeah. But that was like _three _hours ago."

"Ah, an eternity."

"I'm so glad you understand this."

"Well," he shrugs. "I didn't bring anything home with me."

"And why not?"

"I didn't know I was supposed to. I thought maybe you wanted to make more boiled carrots or something."

And I wonder for a second if Harry Potter, prince of all that is potentially good in this world, is actually being mean to me. I feel a little insecure about it, actually. Well, that is until I look up into his face and see a playful grin.

The whole insecurity thing must've somehow shown through to my face, though. His smile fades a little and he says, "Oh, hey, Pans... Honest--"

I shake my head quickly and give him a small smile before wrapping my arms around him. He returns the hug and holds me a little closer to himself. I notice his suede jacket still smells like exhaust from the street. I find this oddly comforting for some reason.

And because we honestly can never have a moment of silence, I open my mouth.

"So, seriously? No breadsticks from the holy Italian place?"

I feel him laugh more than I hear it and he squeezes me just a bit tighter before lifting me up off the floor a few inches.

"Is that what you need to make you happy?"

He lets my feet come back to the ground and loosens his grip slightly.

I pull back just enough so I can see his face. "You know it."

He lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Well, if I get food, you know I'm going to have to get enough for Ron and Hermione too. And then I'll also have to ask the restaurant not to put the food in those nifty little Styrofoam boxes, 'cause Hermione _flips out_ whenever she sees one, you know the whole thing about them not being biodegradable and whatever. Which I think is actually a little shortsighted on her part, you know? I mean, there's a war going on and she's worried about the world's fate hundreds of years from now? Maybe that just means she's got a ton of faith in me and that we'll all survive or something. But personally? Styrofoam boxes just don't even rank."

I stare at him, my mouth slightly open. 'Cause, wow, it's so obvious that Styrofoam boxes totally _do _rank as far as he's concerned. You don't have a speech like that all ready to go at a moment's notice if the Styrofoam doesn't rank. You just don't. At least that's what I always say, anyway.

He doesn't really get a chance notice my expression, though, 'cause I choose to bury my head in the crook of his shoulder. I mean, the guy doesn't really need to know that he's totally neurotic, right? Instead I say, "You're cute, Potter. You know that, right?"

He scoffs. "Sure, Pansy. You'll just say anything to get into my pants."

I laugh. "It is painfully obvious you've been hanging around Ron too long."

"And why do you say that?"

"Like I need any one specific reason?"

"True."

He lets me go and moves to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. I stare at him the whole time, but he doesn't notice right away. When he finally glances at me, I widen my eyes and raise my eyebrows.

"What?" he wants to know.

I shrug. "Nothing." I pause. "I mean, if dying of starvation is nothing."

"You," he points at me, "are so melodramatic."

"Someone's gotta be."

"Yeah, I know. But I've got so many people in my life filling that very role right now!"

"Well, obviously they weren't doing a very good job, or else you wouldn't've felt it necessary to add me into your special little world too!"

"I...uh, have no idea how to respond to that."

"'Cause it's true, baby."

"It isn't."

"Is."

"Isn't."

"Is. And get me some food!"

"Fine! What do you want?"

And it really is just almost too easy to get what I want out of him. Almost.

o o o

Fifteen minutes later I'm standing in the take-away line at the Holy Italian Place. Because apparently that's it's official title now.

And, yeah, I totally have to have the "Oh, hey, yeah, can I take the food home in something that isn't Styrofoam?" conversation with the girl behind the counter.

I end up with Styrofoam anyway. I guess I can't blame her, I'd think I was crazy too. But whatever, food is food, right? And maybe Hermione won't notice?

o o o

"You know I'm not eating any of that, right?"

All four of us are actually sitting at the dining table. And I _so_ knew this was all coming. And, yeah, you guessed it, it's because of the Styrofoam.

Ron puts up a single hand to me, silently telling me that he'll handle it. "Hermione, come on--"

"Ugh, Ron. Seriously? Don't even start. You know it's wrong."

Well, that could've probably gone better.

But Ron's not about to give up that quickly. "It's not wrong, per se..."

"It is!"

"Sweetie--" He gives her one of his best understanding smiles. I mean, it really is one of the better ones I've seen him use. _Ever._

"Oh, no." She shakes her head. "No, don't you 'sweetie' me."

And that just seems to piss Ron off. His voice gets a little harder, "Hermione."

"No, I know you don't get it. I don't even expect you to get it--"

He interrupts. "What? 'Cause I'm stupid? Fuck, Hermione, are we really at that again?"

She raises her voice to meet his. "That's not what I said."

"Might as well've."

"Ronald, don't be ridiculous."

"Me? Ridiculous? Honestly? Miss I-Won't-Eat-Something-That-Came-In-A-Styrofoam-Box?"

"I told you that I don't expect you to understand!"

And this really is all _very _ridiculous. It's painfully obvious that the two of them have been having way too much alone time together. So I do what a hero's gotta do: bust up the fight.

"Okay, guys. Enough."

They both turn their heads to me, neither surprised in the slightest that I'm still in the room, or that I'm the one to tell them to cut it out.

Hermione silently gets up from the table, going into the kitchen. I know she's probably digging through the cupboard for a box of cereal. Cereal's acceptable because it comes in a world-friendly recyclable cardboard box.

Ron sighs and pulls a box of fettuccine alfredo towards himself and starts eating right from it instead of dishing a portion out onto his plate. This, I know, wouldn't happen if Hermione were still in the room. Actually, she probably just would've dished it up for him and everything. Not that she mothers him at all or anything.

I look to Pansy and see that she's halfway through a container of spaghetti, apparently not having been fazed in the slightest by the argument. She shoves half of a breadstick into her mouth before she realizes I'm watching her. She chews for a good thirty seconds before swallowing. "So, show's over, huh?"

I'm not sure if she's talking about Ron and Hermione's argument or my watching her eat, so I don't respond at all. Instead, I pull the carton of breadsticks away from her side, select one and shove it in my mouth before smiling at her.

She raises an eyebrow. "Wow, someone could've ever used some finishing school."

"Nah," I say around the mouthful of bread, "it's all about being heathenistic, baby."

She, of course, has no idea what I've just said. "Of course, Pot-Pot." She nods. "Whatever you say." She throws a look to Ron, but he misses it, now being more involved in his noodles than the conversation.

o o o

After dinner we all go into the living room to watch some quality television. But everyone knows that quality TV doesn't really exist anymore, so we settle on watching some show about brides and how they become crazy bitches before their weddings. For real, even. As if I needed another reason to be afraid of getting married.

About ten minutes into the show, Ron turns to Harry. "You know, these girls aren't _that _bad. I mean, don't you think they're getting a bad rap? They just want things to be perfect for their wedding day."

Harry looks at him, utterly shocked. "Ron, say you don't honestly believe that. These women? They're _fucking crazy_. And nasty, too. I mean, I know you like the whole dominant female thing, but they're taking it to a whole new level."

Ron's face turns a little red and he gets really quiet. I can practically hear him mulling over what Harry's just said. And then I start thinking about it too. At least as far as Ron's concerned.

I mean, the guy's got the looks, he's got enough of a personality. It's quite possible that he could have any girl he wants. But it's becoming more and more obvious to me that he only wants the one girl that isn't willing to give in that easily. Over good looks and personality, I mean.

And I would think about the whole thing more, but then the commercial break is over and the bride is back, screaming about how the bubble machine isn't putting out big enough bubbles. Seriously. You can't make this shit up.

Three episodes later, Harry finally stands up from his spot on the couch. "Well, I'm gonna go catch some z's." He looks to me, "Pans, you coming?"

"I, uh... Yeah, okay."

We both head down the short hallway and into his bedroom. He takes off his dress shirt and pulls on a t-shirt the same way he did last night. And then he pulls out another t-shirt for me, without even being asked.

The potential routine shines through so clearly that it makes me feel a little scared. Or maybe confused.

And I can't help but wonder if this could all somehow end up being the norm in my life. Or if I really should even let it become the norm in my life.

He moves into the bathroom, where I hear him brushing his teeth. While he's doing that, I change out of my clothes into the shirt and crawl into bed.

And it's a little cliche, but I feel very small in that moment.

After a few minutes he reemerges from the bathroom and joins me in the bed.

I prop myself up on my elbows. I can't help but just stare at him.

Which, of course, he notices right away. "What?"

I begin, "Harry..."

But then I just stop. Because it's ridiculous to spend all of my time thinking about all of these feelings when I've got this guy in bed with me, right?

I pull myself forward and move so my head is above his. And I press my lips to his. Initially, I feel him begin to pull back, but only for a moment. Soon, he's kissing me back, hard. His hands move to my back and begin lightly brushing up and down.

And even though it's the last thing I expected, all my thoughts come rushing back to me. I quickly pull away.

"Are you okay?"

How would I even begin to answer that question? Honestly.

I tear my eyes away from his and let myself sink into my pillow.

But he sits up in the bed and waits for me to explain myself.

After a few moments of silence, I finally find my voice.

"If we do this, it can't just be it... If it were anyone else in the world, Potter, I swear that'd be fine, but I couldn't stand it if it was that way with you."

For some reason he doesn't even attempt to open his mouth and reply. And it sort of unnerves me.

I try to amend. "...Not that this sort of thing happens often to me, I mean."

"Pansy?"

"Yeah?" My eyes scan across his face quickly.

"Just shut up."

And then he's kissing me. But all I can think about is how he didn't answer my question. So I pull away.

"Harry, I'm serious."

"I know. So am I." He pauses, looking away from me for a second. "This isn't going to be it. I couldn't let this be it, even if I tried. I mean, you mentioned everyone else in the world? Well, I have a handle on where I stand with them. Every last one of them. Except you."

He pulls me back towards him and kisses my forehead. "I won't let this be it."

And, no, the moment isn't filled with typical promises and proclamations of love. Maybe it's because we're not typical people.

Even though I don't want to be that kind of girl, I hear myself asking, "So you're in?"

He chuckles lowly, "I'm in."

And the his lips reclaim mine, softer this time than before. Slower, almost. Because somehow this became The Real Deal; somehow he and I ended up in a world where it's okay for there to be an "us."

If I had more time to think about it, I would realize that that kind of world surely couldn't have been made for lasting. But that's the thing about this world, there isn't time for thinking. Time is filled up with big-screen TVs, take-away, friends with insect infested flats, and the occasional owl that tries to bring the world crashing down.

But like I said, there's no time to think about any of that. My hands are buried in his hair and his lightly roam across my back.

I clear my throat slightly and he pulls away, a confused look splaying across his face.

I focus on his eyes. "So this is it."

The confusion leaves and all that's left is lust in his eyes. Or something akin to lust, anyway. And that's really all the reply I need.

o o o

"Are you okay?"

And it is just so Potter-esque for him to ask me something like that.

I open my eyes and look to the foot of the bed for a brief moment. I notice that the shirt he'd maybe-routinely handed me earlier that night is barely hanging off the edge.

A smile spreads across my face before I even think about it. I scan up towards his face and find him staring back at me, his black hair much more rumpled than usual and his eyes still overly dilated.

"I'm good." It comes out quieter than I intended.

"C'mere." He sighs and starts to pull me closer to him. He grabs me in a slightly ticklish spot, though, and I end up doing a bit of flailing.

He laughs as he finishes pulling me up against him, my back facing his chest.

I feel his chest rise and fall with each breath. I find it ridiculously comforting; it's the safest I've felt in weeks, maybe even months. And it isn't long before I feel myself drifting off to sleep.

o o o

Somehow I can sense that Pansy has fallen asleep and I silently wonder why it is that I'm still awake. But then I realize it's because my mind has been quietly reeling for the past hour. I mean, this is Pansy Parkingson, soon to be a Malfoy. What does that even mean?

I have to tell myself that she isn't --truly isn't-- the Pansy I thought I knew growing up. I haven't decided if that's fair or not yet.

And I really don't know what I'm going to do about her engagement to Draco. Or if there even is anything I could do about it. But for now she's mine. And somehow, after I realize that, it's all that seems to really matter.

I give her a light squeeze, careful not to wake her. After awhile I finally close my eyes and just listen to her breathing next to me.

o o o

Waking up the next morning, I roll over to find that Harry's already gotten up. The t-shirt is still hanging off the foot of the bed, I sit up and reach for it. Just as I'm pulling it over my head, the bedroom door opens.

It looks as if Harry's just gotten out of the shower, his hair wet and flat on his head, almost brushed directly back from his face. I can't help but smile.

He returns the smile. "Hey, you just wake up?"

I nod before frowning slightly. "Why are you still here?"

He laughs, obviously in a good mood. "I, uh, live here, Pans."

My smile returns and I roll my eyes. "No duh, Potter. But why aren't you at work?"

"Well, you see," he begins smartly, "it's Saturday. And Saturday means that everyone who is me doesn't have to go to work."

"I see, well, it's good of them to give you a day off. Come and join the rest of us who are unemployed."

"What? Be unemployed for the weekend?"

"Yeah, doesn't that sound like more fun than a normal weekend?"

"Uh, because the weekend needed some spicing up?"

"Exactly. That's what I like about you, you're very perceptive, Pot-Pot."

"You really should stop calling me that."

"On your Unemployed Weekend? Why would I do such a thing?"

"Because I'm a nice boy and you're a mean girl. And on unemployed weekends, the mean girls always let the nice boys have their way."

"That..." I pause for good measure. "Is completely ridiculous. I don't think you really know the first thing about unemployed weekends. Besides, I'm pretty sure I let you have your way last night."

"Oh-ho, Pans. Playing that card, huh? Well, okay. You're right."

"I know."

He moves towards the bed, leaning down over me and kisses me on the forehead. "Have I told you good morning yet?"

Tilting my head upwards, my eyes meet his line of vision. "No, and I've been waiting all morning."

"Well," he says, sitting down on the foot of the bed, "good morning, then."

I grin. "What now?"

He seems caught slightly offguard. "What do you mean, 'what now'?"

"It's the weekend. We're supposed to do super-fun stuff on weekends. So what super-fun stuff are we going to do? Hm?"

"I, uh..." He seems to be searching for an idea for a moment. "Well, I guess I have one idea."

And I can tell, just by the way he's looking at me, what he's thinking about.

Ignoring him, I let myself fall into the pillows behind me, laughing slightly.

I can feel him waiting for me to stop, but I can't.

After a few minutes, he finally speaks. "You sound positively mental. You know that, right?"

"Girls giggle, it's what they do," I tell him, my face buried in a pillow.

"Oh, of course." He replies. I have no idea how he actually deciphered what I said.

Apparently he has though, and he continues, "I wouldn't know, personally. I grew up with Hermione."

And that only contributes to my continuing giggle fit.

* * *

**A/N**: freakin-eh, it's finally an update! guys, I love you. seriously, LOVE. I'll be replying to the reviews from the last chapter via the site's messaging system.

**Review? **Who knows, it could inspire me to update more than once every 8 months!

_8/23/07_


	13. This Is For Real

**Chapter 13**: This Is For Real (This Time I Mean It)

**A/N**: Title from the Motion City Soundtrack song of the same title.

* * *

And okay, so we don't do super fabulous things. I mean, there's only so much entertainment to be had in the wide, wide world. You know, if the 'wide, wide world' is code for 'Harry's Flat.' -- Just saying.

We end up deciding to order pay-per-view movies. And while that might sound like an easy thing to do, it's not.

Harry and I are sitting together on the couch and I gotta admit it, it's weird. I mean, not sitting with Harry but sitting _on _the couch. Honestly, who sits on the couch in the living room? It's so far away from the TV. I swear the viewing experience is NOT as good back here. Never mind that we haven't started watching anything yet. Actually, the TV isn't on at all... but that is just SO not the point.

I don't bother telling Harry this, though, because he's preoccupied in a conversation with his minion-esque friends. Besides, he wouldn't believe me anyway.

Hermione is sitting curled up in the navy blue arm chair next to the couch, Ron's sitting on the floor in front of the chair, propped up against it. I would be envious of this spot if the chair was closer to the TV, but it's not, so we're cool.

Ron's got his head tilted almost directly back as he listens to Hermione.

So I put my brooding over the distance between myself and the TV on hold to listen in on their conversation. I mean, at least _they're _close enough to watch. Anyway...

"...and I think that everyone would agree that orange soda is always the way to go."

Wow. That Hermione can sure be random, huh?

Her statement instantly meets opposition, in the form of a resounding groan, from the men in the room.

Ron actually bothers to move his entire body around so he can look at her face-on. "Herms, you cannot be serious."

She looks at him pointedly. "Why would I lie?"

"Uh, because everyone knows that ginger ale is better. Like, _everyone_."

I don't bother listening to Harry weigh in on this subject. Honestly, I do not care. I idly wonder when we're ordering the movie. Because, seriously, this is not super fabulous. It's just not.

This time I do share my thoughts with Harry.

He just smiles at me, like I'm this thing that thinks he should cater to. And while I should probably take offense to it, I don't, because, _hello_, I am going to get my way! And the TV will be turned on and life will be just as it should!

While talking to Harry, I notice Ron leave the room and return with a can of ginger ale, giving Hermione a dirty look. But she only rolls her eyes at him.

And then we finally start going through the listings of the available movies!

And it's important to note that there's one very crucial thing every good movie should have: an explosion.

But for some reason none of the others agree with me.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm slouched as far down as the couch will allow me. And I'm actually kind of feeling some hate for the TV.

So I begin to whine.

"Harry, this is making me cranky."

I gaze at him, trying to use all my womanly charms on him. I send him a message through my thoughts. _Pick a movie where stuff gets blown up. Pick a movie where stuff gets blown up._

He raises one eyebrow at me. "Are you okay?"

I sigh. "You're no fun. You won't mind-meld with me."

He laughs lightly, "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were trying to mind-meld. Besides, don't you have to be a Vulcan for that?"

I pout at him. "Whatever, Harry Potter."

He smiles down at me. "Know what? How about you go make some popcorn or something? Keep your mind off the torture that is picking pay-per-view television?"

I let myself slide the rest of the way off the couch and onto the floor. It ends up hurting more than I thought it would, but I don't say anything, because I know letting myself fall to the floor like that just might've been a bit dramatic. You know, maybe.

I half-limp into the kitchen and begin looking for popcorn in cupboards that seem to be holding a lot of instant rice. I mean, _a lot_.

I'm in the middle of trying to decide what Harry could possibly doing with all this freaking rice when I hear the swinging kitchen door flap behind me.

I turn around to see Hermione.

"Hey, you know what the deal with all this rice is? I mean, it's ridiculous... And I _know_ it wasn't here earlier this week."

She gives a half-interested glance into the nearest open cupboard before shrugging. And then I start to wonder if I'm in trouble.

She gives me a small smile as she leans up against the countertop. "So, you and Harry, huh?"

And oh-dear-Merlin, we're having _that_ conversation.

I clear my throat slightly, really wishing that I could mind-meld with Potter. Because if I could, I'd tell him to get his hero's ass in here and save me. But apparently I am a failure at being a Vulcan or whatever, because moments pass and no one enters the kitchen to save me.

I buy time, going around the kitchen, closing all the cupboard doors I'd just finished opening.

She tries again. "Pansy, I'm not upset. Just confused."

I turn from the last set of cupboards and sigh. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I don't know what to say. Harry... he's been there for me. And I would say that he "gets" me, but he really doesn't. But he knows where I'm coming from, somehow. And he makes me feel like there's so much more to the world than what I know and that I could actually _deserve _someone like him." I pause, looking away from her for a moment. "I don't know if that's fair."

She crosses her arms. "How long has this been going on?"

And when I stop to think about it, I realize it really hasn't been that long at all.

She continues, "I mean, you two didn't really know each other at school, right?"

"I work with him. Well, under him."

She shakes her head, "But that's not it, is it?"

"No."

"What about Draco?"

For some reason the question catches me off-guard. "How do you know about Draco?"

"Harry told me after you'd first moved in."

I swallow before answering. "It's all just... so complicated, Hermione, you know? I mean, I just wake up one morning and get proposed to, then I go to work where I find out that the war is, in fact _not _over, and that the Order is on the brink of being corrupt or something and that I need to go into hiding because they're planning on using me for bait. Not to mention everything else that's happened since."

"What else has happened?"

"Look, I don't know what kind of answers you're looking for from me. I honestly don't. And you know what? I don't have any answers. Not even one. I don't know why things are the way they are. I don't know why I'm in love--"

I break off, stopping with the realization of what I've just about said.

"In love with whom, Pansy?"

I shake my head and I can feel tears welling up in my eyes.

"With whom?"

"I--I can't. I just can't."

"You have to say it, Pansy."

"No, I can't."

And I leave the room, popcorn and pay-per-view movies forgotten.

o o o

Ron and I hear the swinging kitchen door slam against the wall and our attention is immediately directed towards the noise.

I turn to Ron. "Was that Pansy?"

He gives me his patented puzzled look. "Dunno, mate."

And then Hermione emerges from the kitchen, looking subdued. She moves into the living room and sits in a chair beside the TV.

Ron is the first to open his mouth. "Fuck, Hermione, what'd you do to her?"

She snaps back. "Honestly, Ron, why do you always think it's my fault when someone goes away from a room crying?"

I sigh audibly and get up from the couch, moving towards the hallway to my bedroom, where Pansy has disappeared into.

And honestly, why on earth would those two _not _start an argument right at this very moment?

"Jeeze, just the fact that you openly admit that numerous people have left rooms where you were, in crying states speaks volumes."

"Shut up."

"Okay, okay. I'll play nice. I don't really want to end tonight crying anyhow. It's bad for my beautiful sparkly blue eyes, you know?"

"Uh yeah. Whatever."

After that I tune them out, instead listening intently at my own door. But I don't hear anything at all.

I don't bother knocking, because, honestly, it's my room. I should be able enter whenever I want. But really, I have a feeling if I did ask to come in, she'd only turn me away.

Light from in between the horizontal blinds spills in across the room, but I don't see her anywhere. I silently hope that I won't end up finding her in my bathroom cutting all her hair off or something.

"Pansy?" I quietly call out.

I hear her blowing her nose before she begins to speak unsteadily, "Harry, come on. You gotta give me a break. Just let me wallow or something for once. Just once, that's all I need."

Opening the bathroom door, I shake my head. "No, no wallowing allowed here. When people are upset in my flat, they yell. A lot. You should know that by now."

She looks up at me, her eye makeup running from her eyes. "I don't really feel like yelling. I mean, I don't even know who I'd yell at. Except maybe myself."

I sit down next to her on the edge of the bathtub. She moves as if she's going to put some distance between the two of us, but apparently decides against it, instead resting her head on my shoulder.

I snake an arm around her waist. "You know, what I said last night was the truth. There's going to be so much more to this. With us, I mean."

I feel her nod. "I know, Harry. I know."

"So what's wrong? What did Hermione say?"

"It was nothing that Hermione said. Honestly."

"I find that a little hard to believe."

"No, really, don't blame her. Just... don't."

"So what is it, then?"

"Well." She lets out a half-laugh and looks at me. "It was all the rice. You know how people are agoraphobic or whatever? That's me. Only, you know, with rice. I mean, I could just say rice-a-phobic, but those kind of things never really seem to work that way anyway."

I honestly have no idea what she's talking about, so I assume she's just trying to avoid the subject.

"Pansy..."

She makes a weird, strangled sort of sound, turning her face away from mine. Finally she sighs and begins to speak. "I just... didn't know how much you meant to me, how much -- how important this thing between us has become."

"Well," I say, trying to lighten the mood, "I _am _ridiculously important."

But it doesn't work.

"See? That's just the thing. Because you _are_."

"Pansy, come on. The world doesn't matter. It honestly doesn't."

"You don't believe that. I know you don't."

"Okay," I amend, "It doesn't matter as far as you and I are concerned."

"There are people in the world that this will affect, though."

"This is about Draco, isn't it?"

"Partly."

"Do you miss him?"

"I--Harry, really, I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Pans..."

"No, really. Can we just go back out there and watch a movie? I mean, it doesn't even have to have a totally awesome explosion. I'll settle for a controlled blaze. Can we just... go?"

If I thought I'd get anywhere by continuing to press her, I would. But I know it's useless. So we stand up from the bathtub and go back into the living room.

o o o

We've just settled in some semblance of normalcy, watching the highly regarded television when there's a knock at the door. Which is very weird, since most everyone I know seems to somehow have a key and simply lets themselves in whenever they want to come inside.

So, I deduce that whomever it is can't really be that important. And that it really wouldn't be worth my time to get up and answer the door. I swear someone else's personality is wearing off on me; it's either Pansy's or Ron's. I guess I can't be sure.

After about the third knock, Hermione throws me a dirty look. "So you're really not going to answer that?"

I shrug. "Think about it, everyone we know is here. Who could it possibly be?"

She purses her lips, obviously verging on being disgusted with me. "Harry, it could be anyone. And you aren't the least bit curious?"

And honestly? I'm really not. I'm only half watching the movie anyway. I'm still mulling over the things Pansy said earlier. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, sitting on the floor in front of the TV, obviously completely lost in the movie.

I forget that Hermione's asked me a question until she stands and huffs, "Well, fine. _I'll _answer the door."

Ron leans forward as she gets up from the chair, settling back in as soon as she's gone; apparently he's pretty into the movie too.

And I really should've known better and answered the door myself. I recognize the voice that greets Hermione immediately. It's Dean. My eyes lock onto the door separating the kitchen and the living room.

"Oh, hey, Hermione. Harry around?"

"Oh, um, he's uh..."

My mind is literally racing. First I wonder where I could possibly hide Pansy. Then I wonder where I could hide myself. Maybe I could get Ron to tackle Dean and then we could perform a memory erasing charm. Or...

"He's actually at the office right now."

"Oh, yeah? Huh, I must've missed him when I was there just a bit ago."

"Yes, you probably did. He just left a few moments ago, actually. It's surprising you didn't run across him in the hall."

And thank Merlin that Hermione is a practiced liar. Or at least that she sounds convincing whenever she opens her mouth.

"Yeah, well, okay. Would you just tell him I need to talk to him? In person."

"Oh, definitely." A pause. "Anything wrong?"

I can hear the smile in Dean's voice. "We've caught Malfoy."

Hermione coughs, obviously choking on something, maybe her own saliva. "Dean, that's really great. You just make sure you keep a hold of him this time, yeah?"

"Funny, Hermione."

"I'm just teasing, really."

"No, I know, it's fine. He won't be getting away this time... If you ask me, I think he's actually starting to lose it. When we caught up with him he was ranting about finding Pansy Parkinson, said she was with Harry."

Hermione sputters again before turning it into a half-laugh. "Oh, that's absurd... I think you may be right, Dean. You probably should be even more careful around Malfoy these days."

"Yeah, probably. Well, I gotta get back. Have a good night, yeah?"

"Definitely. You too."

The door shuts and I hear the deadbolt slide back into place.

Hermione emerges from the kitchen, her face pale.

She looks first to Ron, whose attention has still yet to leave the television screen. Then she looks to me.

"Harry."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Holy shit."

I glance to Pansy and find her intently looking at me. "Harry... I--I shouldn't stay here any longer. It--It's not safe... for any of you."

Hermione is the first to speak. "Pansy Parkinson, do not be ridiculous. You are not going anywhere."

Pansy gives her a pleading look, as if she's trying to convey more than she's willing to say. "Hermione, really. You know it's true."

"I don't care if it's true or not. You're staying here." She gives me a look. "Will you back me up, here, Harry?"

But I'm still so struck by the idea of Pansy leaving. And what that would mean, how it would affect my life.

After a moment, I'm able to speak. "You have to stay."

Hermione nudges Ron with her leg and sits back down in the chair. When she realizes he missed absolutely everything that just happened, she kicks him on the shoulder.

"Oi!"

"'Oi!' yourself, Ronald Weasley. You are so daft sometimes."

He looks to me. "What did I do now?"

I give him a sympathetic smile. "Sorry, mate, I really have to agree with Hermione on this one."

"I missed something?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Something big?"

"Probably."

"Is someone going to tell me about it now that it's over?"

Hermione cuts in. "Well, that depends. Are you going to listen this time?"

He moves to face her before replying. "Honestly, I was just watching the damn movie that took us forty-two minutes to decide on. I _was watching _it so all that good money didn't go to waste. What more do you want from me?"

"You," she says slowly, "had better be kidding."

He just rolls his eyes and turns back around, apparently not worried that she'll kick him again.

o o o

Hours later, Pansy and I are back in my bedroom, going through our now nightly routine. It isn't until we're both in bed, on our respective sides, that she says anything to me. And what she does say, isn't what I expected.

"So, seriously. What's with the rice?"

I can just make out the contours of her face from the little light in the room. I frown. "What?"

"The rice. The boxes upon boxes of instant rice that are filling almost every cupboard in your kitchen."

I let out a half-laugh, confused. "Pansy, I don't eat instant rice. I mean, if I want rice, I'll order take-away, you know?"

She gets slightly huffy. "Okay. Fine. Don't tell me what the rice is for."

"What? You're serious? There's seriously a ton of instant rice in my kitchen?"

"Um, duh? I don't see how this should be such a hard concept to grasp. Cupboards. Full of rice."

And with that, I'm out of bed. I flip on the light as I make my way out of the room.

Thirty seconds later I return, more confused than I was when I'd left.

"You're right. There's a fucking lot of rice in my kitchen..."

"Yeah, I know." She pauses to give me an overly dramatic look. "The question is, however, why didn't you know?"

"I have... no idea. Really."

"Do you think it's evil rice?"

I raise an eyebrow at her, "Seriously?"

She gives me an innocent look. "Hey, what do I know? It could happen."

"No, Pansy, I don't think it's evil rice. It's just... displaced?"

"It's very weird, Potter. You have to admit that."

"Yeah," I agree, flipping the light back off. "It's pretty weird."

I move across the room and slip back into bed. A silence has fallen between us, and I'm the first to break it.

"So, we're just going to talk about rice instead of Draco?"

She waits a moment before replying. "Yeah, that'd be nice. Can we?"

"For now, yeah."

And after an even longer pause, she whispers, "Thank you."

Then she wraps her hand around mine, giving it a light squeeze. Nothing more is said before we drift off to sleep.

* * *

**A/N**: Reviewers, hello! Lurkers, hello! That's my newest chapter. I love Pansy and Harry. Like... so much.

Okay, I'm doing my thank-yous in the story again. Because I can.

**TORxTOR**: I loveee that you reviewed so quickly! I'm glad you remembered my story! You are truly awesomeeee! 3

**trhsrjytqq**: dude, you completely just pounded on your keyboard for that name, didn't you? either way, thanks so much for taking the time to review!

**LaBelle Evans**: hey, this SO didn't take a thousand years! I should get a prize... hehe... I know. I really, really want them to be ridiculously happy... and continue on doing ridiculous things!

**Lrnd**: dude, Ron would SO take the bridezilla's side. you know it. I tried to make the POV shifts a little more obvious, hopefully they weren't too confusing this time!

**Cybill**: It's okay that you love-hate me. but, really, I just love you. hehe... Harry and Pansy forever!!

**Badly-Drawn-Boy**: Dude. That's soooo awesome to hear coughread!

**Mellowyellow11**: lust-filled humor is the bessst. brings up a sort of sexual tension. and, ohhhmygod, there's not much that's better than that. well, except getting what you're lusting after. but that's moving on to another point...!

And to you who continue to lurk, you should really review. Just tell me you read it or something! Messages in my inbox about my stories make me ridiculously happy. And trust me, I need all the happy I can get! Soooo...

**Review?**


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